


The Last War

by House_of_the_Lion



Series: GoT x Dæmons [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Beautiful Golden Fools | Cersei/Jaime Lannister-centric, Canon-Typical Violence, Daemons, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, R Plus L Equals J, Season 7/Season 8, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29096652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/House_of_the_Lion/pseuds/House_of_the_Lion
Summary: The presence of just one more person at Dragonpit can completely change the course of the last war.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister & Jaime Lannister & Tyrion Lannister, Cersei Lannister & Sansa Stark, Cersei Lannister & Tyrion Lannister, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth (one-sided), Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Series: GoT x Dæmons [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134713
Comments: 46
Kudos: 100





	1. Prologue : Dragonpit

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!
> 
> I'm back with a new fic !  
> I'm happy to publish this AU of season 8, which, like a lot of people, was not too much to my taste ^^''  
> For this clip, if you have not read Phillip Pullman's books _His Dark Materials_ or seen the series _His Dark Materials_ , it is very important to start by reading the ''Dæmons Guide'', the first part of this series, in order to understand what it is. This will be necessary for you to understand the story.
> 
> On that note, enjoy reading!

The sun was high in the sky, overlooking King's Landing, bathing the city in its soft golden light, despite the winter which was now very close.

Sansa was getting hot, much too hot, under the thick fur that covered her shoulders and her heavy dark dress. But she didn't know if it was due to the sun, unexpected in this season, or if it was something else.

Four years old. It had been four years since she had set foot in the capital.

The thought had been eating away at her, as she got closer to the place where the current Queen of the Seven Kingdoms had agreed to meet them. Her eyes were lowered on her feet, which she contemplated attentively, without paying attention to the crowd of people around them, who were going to the same place.

Her dæmon, Seldan, was perched on her shoulder in the form of a chickadee. He had not yet taken his final form, surprisingly, but Sansa did not mind. When he would no longer be able to metamorphose as he wished, it would be a sign that she would be an adult, and what she had glimpsed of that world did not please her at all.

When she had been younger, she had wanted with all her heart to marry a prince, to become a princess, and then to become a queen.

But that little girl was dead, dead and buried, and the only thing that the young woman who had taken the child's place wanted was to become that little girl again, with her dreams and illusions, and above all, with her innocence.

Innocence had no place in the adult world. It was the most important lesson she ever learned.

She looked at Seldan, who had jumped from her shoulder, now a cat, and walked in front of her.

Sansa stopped, pensive, looking at her feet again.

''Everything is going to be all right.''

She looked up at her dæmon, but did not answer anything.

''I think he's right, you know...''

Sansa turned her head, surprised by the voice that had spoken next to her.

She smiled when she recognized the owner. It had been as long since she had seen Tyrion as King's Landing, and yet when he was being nice to her like this, she could only feel her heart warm a little, without really knowing why. His dæmon, a fox named Stelsa, walked beside him.

He smiled slightly, almost sadly, when she looked at him.

He had grown a beard. It made him look much more serious, wise, almost, as if all of a sudden he had grown up, but differently.

Tyrion resumed:

''I don't want to go to this meeting any more than you do. After all, the last time I saw my sister, she wanted me dead. I doubt that Cersei has changed her mind about that. I understand very well that you don't want to be in the same place as her either.''

Oh. So that was it.

Tyrion thought that Sansa was anxious to see Cersei again.

To tell the truth, she hadn't even thought about it.

It might sound strange, but she hadn't thought for a second about what her reunion would be like, if you could call it that, with her.

When she was little, she had wanted to look like Cersei Lannister so much.

Cersei was rich, coming from the richest family in the kingdom. Cersei was beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, and, according to rumors, perhaps even the most beautiful woman in the world.

Most importantly, Cersei was a queen.

And when the King had decided to visit Winterfell eight years earlier, accompanied by his family, she was delighted to finally meet the woman who had been occupying his mind for several years.

She had not been disappointed.

The queen was as beautiful as one would expect, with her emerald irises and long golden curls, which fell elegantly into her back; a real lioness' mane.

But, on top of that, the queen was nice, so nice to her, that Sansa almost had the impression that she really loved her.

But that was before.

Now she realized that she had never really known how Cersei felt about her. But she hadn't lied when she told Jon that she had learned a lot from her.

But she didn't want to talk about it, even with Tyrion, not now.

Dragonpit wasn't far away, but enough to keep them safe from prying ears, although you're never really safe from anything in this town.

She looked Tyrion in the eyes.

''Do you really think that Cersei will accept the armistice that you want to propose to her ?''

Tyrion seemed to hesitate for a brief moment, before responding cautiously:

''I think that if we present things to her properly, and we're diplomatic, we may have a chance, just a tiny, tiny chance that Cersei will accept.''

He took a brief look at Jon, who walked in front of them, accompanied by Davos Seaworth

''But she won't accept without conditions. And, as long as they are reasonable, it will be better to accept them, if we want peace with her, or even, if we dare to dream, her help.''

Sansa looked at Jon in turn. She hadn't spoken to him since she had found him on her way to King's Landing. She had been angry with him since a few days before she had heard what had happened at Dragonstone. Since she had learned that Jon had submitted the North to Daenerys Targaryen without asking her opinion.

At first, she had not believed it, when she had read the few lines hastily scribbled on a torn piece of parchment that Maester Wolkan had come to bring to her. She had to read it and reread it several times before she finally came to her senses. And she had felt a dark anger overwhelming her, both against Jon and against Daenerys, whom she didn't even know. And this anger against the Mother of Dragons had only increased since she had known that she wouldn't be going on the road with them, preferring to make a remarkable arrival, just to remind Cersei who was the true heiress to the Iron Throne.

She was again drawn out of her thoughts by the voice of Tyrion, who had gently put one of his hands on her arm, and looked her straight in the eyes, emeralds against sapphires :

''I know that you love your brother very much. But today, we have to remember that this is most likely our only chance to make a truce with Cersei. We can't win this war alone, and even less if she attacks us from the other side. Her support is absolutely essential. Don't let his damn Stark honor get the better of him.

She was about to respond, when several Lannister soldiers saw them, led by a mercenary, whose name Sansa could not remember.

They had reached the point of no return.

* * *

Cersei was not yet there when they entered the ruined pit.

Sansa would almost have preferred that she was ahead of them, so that perhaps it wouldn't have left time for the discomfort to form inside her belly, as was the case now.

Now that Tyrion had talked to her about it, she was beginning to wonder what she would think when she saw Cersei appear. But she didn't have time to do so for a long time.

Cersei entered the pit in turn, followed by a man who was to be her Hand, Jaime Lannister and her guard, and a man who looked like some kind of pirate and whom Sansa didn't know.

If her dæmon, Aramis, a beautiful lion, which Sansa remembered well, walked by her side, she could hardly recognize Cersei, at least at first.

She no longer had the long blonde curls that reached the hollow of her back, as in Sansa's memories. The crown was gone. Instead, she now had short golden locks. Nevertheless, Sansa couldn't help but notice how beautiful she still looked, despite the years that had passed and the havoc they had caused. Her hieratic gait was graceful and supple, like that of a feline, her mere presence was imposing, much more so than that of King Robert. This was what a queen was supposed to look like.

And, for the first time, the young Stark thought that she was certainly not the only one who had had a hard time in recent years.

Cersei stepped forward, without saying a word, and went to her seat, shooting Tyrion in the face as she passed, before sitting in her chair with Aramis lying at her feet. Once there, she began to watch the people present attentively, her emerald green eyes piercing, probably looking for Daenerys among the crowd, and Sansa could have sworn she saw the shadow of a smile on her lips as she crossed her eyes.

* * *

Sansa felt a new wave of anger rising within her as Cersei left the scene.

A few steps away, Brienne had apostrophized Jaime, who had begun to follow Cersei, back to the Red Keep with her, her dæmon, a lioness, following him closely.

''Ser Jaime !''

He didn't even bother to stop or turn around to look at her. Totally indifferent, he replied:

''I was happy to see you. Next time it will be on the battlefield.''

''We both saw what happened. We both saw that... that thing.''

''Yeah. I'm in no hurry to see any more up close. But I am loyal to the Queen, and you are loyal to Sansa and her simpleton brother...''

''Fuck loyalty !''

Brienne had let go of that emphatically, grabbing Jaime's arm, her dæmon-dog barking at her side.

Jaime, truly surprised, finally agreed to turn to her to face her.

"Fuck loyalty ?''

''It's beyond oaths, houses, honor. Talk to the queen.''

Jaime turned his head, to see if Cersei was still in the pit, but she wasn't. She was indeed gone.

Then turning back to Brienne :

''I've known my sister since we were born. Even before that. In fact, I'm the person who knows her best in this world ; maybe even better than she knows herself. And I can assure you one thing: I wouldn't be able to change her mind, even if I wanted to. Good day, Lady Brienne.''

With that, he turned his heels, and followed the same path as Cersei a few minutes before him.

The discussion between the two knights had provoked a general silence among those who had not spoken fifteen minutes before.

When Jaime was out of sight of everyone present, and no one had dared to move since Cersei had stormed off, Tyrion's voice was heard:

''I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm afraid my brother is right. Cersei can be horribly stubborn when she wants to be, and we just made a big cross on her offer. It was our only chance to obtain an armistice with her ; she won't let us have another.''

Sansa rose from her seat, totally furious. Jon had just ruined everything, with his honor and loyalty that had only caused them trouble.

She immediately went to Jon, who had returned to Daenerys.

Once there, she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him aside.

When they were more or less alone, she exploded:

''What the hell has gotten into you?''

Jon hesitated, before answering:

''I couldn't lie. I...''

But Sansa cut it off:

''You've just ruined the only chance we had of getting peace with Cersei, at least temporarily. What are we going to do now ?''

Jon could find nothing to answer.

Sansa sighed deeply, before turning her heels.

Jon called her back as she walked away from him.

''Where are you going ?''

Sansa turned around and looked him straight in the eye:

''I'm going to see if I can make up for your foolishness.''

When she saw his incomprehension, she clarified her words:

''I will try to go talk to Cersei.''

And, ignoring her protests, she walked away.

Tyrion, exchanging a glance with Daenerys, then staring at the exit of the pit where Cersei and Jaime had gone, understood what she expected of him.

He walked toward the exit, but before he had time to leave, Sansa caught up with him.

''Wait !''

He turned to look at her, silent.

She continued:

''You're going to try to talk with Cersei, aren't you ?''

''Talking with Cersei is a big word. I'm going to talk to her, but there's no guarantee that she will listen to me.

''Could I join you ?''

Tyrion sighed.

''I doubt you're much more successful than me, Sansa.''

''Let me try. I don't have the same relationship with Cersei as you; maybe she won't listen to you, but maybe she'll listen to me.''

Tyrion sighed more beautifully.

''If even Jaime can't get her to listen to reason, I doubt very much that anyone has a chance. But if you really want to come, I don't see why I shouldn't let you.''

Seldan, who had turned into a wolf, started walking next to Stelsa, the fox of Tyrion, as they headed towards the Red Keep on foot, alone.

* * *

Jaime didn't even bother to knock on the door before entering Cersei's office.

She was sitting on a chair near the window, one hand on her belly, which had not yet begun to round, a sign of the little lion cub that was growing inside, safely, eyes half-closed, almost as if she were sleeping.

Aramis was lying all the way down next to her, and her hand that was not on her belly was buried in his mane, gently caressing her.

Jaime leaned against the door frame and smiled blissfully at the vision. She was perfectly calm, and he rarely had the opportunity to see her so relaxed, so at peace.

There was silence in the room, so much so that if he had listened, he could have heard the sound of her breathing, even though she was several meters away from him.

He felt himself pushed to the side, and had just enough time to see the shape of his dæmon, Sercilia, slip into the room to lie down against Aramis, inadvertently pushing Cersei's hand, who, abruptly pulled out of her moment of tranquility, looked down to see what was bothering her. She smiled half smile when she saw her brother's dæmon. She knew that he would come and talk to her sooner or later, and it seemed that this moment had arrived.

''I know you're here, Jaime.''

He walked into the room, and came and stood next to her.

Using the armrests, she stood up and looked her brother in the eye.

''What do you want ?''

He swallowed, and then he started. He already knew that this conversation would be far from pleasant and, to be perfectly frank with himself, he felt a little sorry to have to go and confront Cersei.

''I have come to ask you to sign this armistice with Daenerys."

His sister's gregarious, burning gaze darkens considerably, in just a fraction of a second.

When she spoke again, her voice was as cold as the eternal winter that threatened the North, and then the Seven Kingdoms in its entirety :

''And may I ask why?''

Jaime hesitated again. She was on the defensive. One sentence, one ambiguous word, and everything could explode.

''We're all in this war together. If we don't fight it, we're going to die. Our survival is at stake...''

Cersei continued to look him straight in the eye, head held high, but she said nothing, waiting for him to finish.

''Our survival... and that of our baby.''

With those words, he gently put his good hand on her belly.

She sighed.

''Listen to me, Jaime. I'll tell you why we're not going to help them in this battle. You ask me, they ask me, to help Daenerys Targaryen. I don't want to do it.''

Seeing that he was about to interrupt her, she raised her hand, asking him to let her finish.

''Wait until I have finished, before you speak. I don't want to help her, because she is a Targaryen.

Jaime couldn't see what she was getting at, and was obviously getting a little upset. He raised his voice.

''Exactly. At the end of the fighting in the North, there will be a winner. If the dead are victorious, they will march south and kill us all. If it is the living, those whom we have refused to help, they will march south, and kill us all.''

Their dæmons, which had already been up for a little while, began to turn around and, occasionally, growl at each other.

Cersei looked at him in amazement.

''Tell me ... Don't you think that if we help them, the Targaryen girl will spare us when she goes back down south ?''

Jaime replied:

"Tyrion might ask her, if we agree to help them.''

Cersei whistled:

''I'm sitting on the throne of her father, whom you stabbed in the back, a throne she claims. Once she returns to confront us and our armies are exhausted, or even totally annihilated by the battle against the dead, what will stop her from killing us? Our little brother?''

Jaime was silent for a few seconds before resuming:

''We can promise him our help in exchange for his promise to let us live.''

Cersei raised an eyebrow:

''Jaime... A promise is based on a relationship of trust. But we cannot trust Daenerys Targaryen.''

Jaime asked a question, which he knew was silly:

"Why?

Cersei was incredulous:

''Why?! Why?! Because she is an aspiring usurper, and the daughter of the Mad King, that's why! What proves to you that when she realizes that we don't want to give her the throne she came to conquer, she won't set everything on fire and blood, exactly as her father wanted to do? Don't you remember? "Burn them all...’’

_Burn them all._

This phrase continued to haunt Jaime from time to time, and he would never forget the dilemma he faced that day.

Cersei was right. Of course she was right. There was no guarantee that Daenerys was right. And Jaime had seen it well during the battle that followed the sack of Highgarden. He was perfectly aware of what she was capable of.

''And what about the White Walkers ?''

''If dragons, Dothrakis, the Unsullied, the Northerners and the Knights of the Vale can't stop them, I don't see how our armies can make a difference...''

She had a strange glow in the depths of her green eyes, which looked like sadness. Knowing her all his life, he knew instinctively that there was something she wasn't telling him, something that was obviously bothering her.

Their dæmons had stopped growling.

Jaime's voice had softened when he invited her to continue:

"And ?''

She took a deep breath:

''And I don't want you to go there and risk dying there alone, without me.''

Her voice trembled slightly, and she looked as if she was about to cry.

Sercilia moved closer to Aramis and rubbed her head against his, while Jaime opened his arms and Cersei let herself fall against his chest, one or two bright tears running down her cheeks.

''All right," he blew softly, as she laid her head on his shoulder, "All right. If you don't want us to send our armies to the North, we won't send them. And I'll stay here in the Red Keep with you and our baby.''

Cersei nodded her head, silently, and grasped the front of her jacket with her hand, while her good hand came to her, burying itself in her short golden locks.

* * *

When Jaime closed the door behind him, he knew he had made the right decision. To tell the truth, he hadn't been particularly comfortable with the idea of being separated from Cersei again for an indefinite period of time, especially when she was pregnant and they were surrounded by enemies.

He came face to face with Sansa and Tyrion and their dæmons.

"What are you doing here ?''

It was Tyrion who answered:

''We came to try to talk to Cersei. Is she in her office ?''

Jaime nodded:

''Yes. But I doubt you'll be able to get her to hear anything. And, to be honest, I think she's right.''

Sansa replied:

''That's okay. It doesn't cost anything to try.''

Jaime said nothing, and let them pass, before continuing on his way.

Sansa and Tyrion found themselves facing the door of Cersei's office, alone with their dæmons, not knowing whether to knock to enter or whether to take advantage of their last chance to run away.


	2. Chapter 1 : Little Dove

Tyrion raised his hand, without managing to hide a slight tremor.

But just as his fist was about to make contact with the black wooden door, he resigned himself and stopped in full motion.

For a fraction of a second, very briefly, he wanted to leave and not return.

It was not serious, they should be able to manage without Cersei's help, right? Shouldn't they?

No. They couldn't. They couldn't win without Cersei's help, or at least without her promise not to attack them while they were struggling with the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead.

So Tyrion took a deep breath. But when he raised his arm again, it was not to knock on the door.

Instead, he put his hand on the handle and, with surprising force, which he didn't think he was capable of, opened the door on the fly.

He entered the room where his sister was, with a confident and determined gait, aware that on his shoulders weighed the future of both sides for the coming war, with Stelsa trotting beside him, her head held high, too.

* * *

Cersei was sitting behind her desk when Tyrion entered her field of vision, with Aramis sitting next to her.

He would have liked to be able to say that she hadn't changed since the last time he had seen her, but, unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

She had suffered, it was visible, especially to him, who had known her practically all her life.

He knew that she had lived through the death of Myrcella and Tommen very badly, when she had worked so hard to protect them.

She had seen their deaths as a symbol of her own failure as a mother, and he knew that she blamed him for it.

He continued to move forward without really looking where he was going, obsessed with her thoughts, so that he could hardly understand what she was saying when she challenged him.

''To tell you the truth, I'm not surprised. She's your type of woman. A foreign whore who doesn't belong.''

Yes, he wanted to shout at her. Yes, I went to her, after you rejected me, after you tried to have me killed.

He didn't really know whose voice it was that answered his sister, but it certainly wasn't his own. Or at least he didn't recognize it as his own.

''A foreign whore that you can't kidnap, beat or intimidate. It must be difficult for you.''

Stung to the core, Cersei wasted no time in responding.

''You bring her here with her little Northerner dog, who has pledged his allegiance after your good advice.''

Tyrion couldn't even deny it. What was the point? She was right. The letter inviting Jon Snow to come to Dragonstone to meet Daenerys was written in his hand.

''I didn't know that he'd pledge his allegiance to him.''

It wasn't really a lie, but Tyrion himself didn't believe it, and Cersei perceived it.

''You managed to get them to roar together for the same purpose, the purpose you've always pursued relentlessly...''

''Cersei, I didn't know...''

''The destruction of this family.''

He knew it. He knew that Cersei blamed him for the deaths of most of their family members, but even though he already knew, it still hurt him to hear it.

And, inexplicably, especially coming from her mouth. She was supposed to hate him, and he hated her back, so why did having proof of her hatred hurt him so much?

''I'm the one who's preventing that from happening. Daenerys didn't want to argue or negotiate. She didn't want to spread words, she wanted to spread fire and blood, until she was convinced to do something different.''

As soon as those words had crossed the barrier of his lips, he regretted them. He had accidentally let a crucial piece of information slip through. He had just revealed something that he had never wanted to face.

And, from the look Cersei gave him, he understood that she had not just let it pass.

He had just let her know that Daenerys wanted to totally destroy the city, which meant the massacre of hundreds of thousands of innocent people, without the slightest thought. But Daenerys wasn't like that, was he? She may have been a Targaryen, but it didn't mean anything. The family name didn't matter, he was living proof: he looked nothing like his father. So maybe Daenerys didn't look like hers either if, with a bit of luck, the gods hadn't got it wrong when they tossed the coin at her birth.

Then he thought again of the attack Daenerys had launched on his family's armies, trying to burn everything in his path. Including his brother.

He sighed deeply before resuming:

''I don't want to destroy this family. I never wanted that.''

Cersei looked him in the eye, it was emerald against emerald, wildfire against wildfire.

''You killed our father.''

''He condemned me to death, for a crime I did not commit. Yes, I killed him. Hate me for it if you want. I hate myself enough already, in spite of what he was, in spite of what my father did to me.''

And you, Cersei, how did you deal with the people who threatened to put you to death?

She pouting and mocking him:

''Oh, poor little man... Your daddy was mean to you...'' The mocking expression soon gave way to the fire burning with anger that burned deep in his heart. "Do you have any idea what you did when you fired that crossbow bolt?''

She didn't give him time to answer. Aramis, who had not moved until then, had now stood up and approached Tyrion, looking at him menacingly.

You have exposed us, leaving us helpless against the vultures, and the vultures have come and tore us apart. You may not have killed Joffrey, but you killed Myrcella, and you killed Tommen. No one would have dared to attack them if Father had been there.''

Tyrion looked at her, and in the midst of her irises burning with rage, found a deep sadness and great pain, which could probably never be filled.

''Nothing has caused me more pain than to learn of their death, and the gods know...''

''I will not hear it, not from you...''

He felt that she was on the verge of exploding. It was rare. Usually, Cersei had a very cold attitude. She didn't need to shout to be heard and listened. She rarely raised her voice. The last time he had witnessed her fury was when she learned that Myrcella would be sent to Dorne six years earlier. Right after that, she had completely collapsed, and he had found it extremely difficult to resist the temptation to take her in his arms.

He remembered how strange it had been. He felt like both strangling her and kissing her, stabbing her back with a dagger and drying her tears at the same time.

He didn't even know why he replied, perhaps for another time, feeling that strange feeling of love and hate mixed together, both as strong as each other.

''Cersei, please...''

''I WILL NOT HEAR IT!''

He jumped. As he had expected, Cersei had begun to shout, so as not to face the horrible reality, which was so much simpler than pretending that everything was her little brother's fault, everything, since birth, that he was responsible for all her misfortunes, to blame everything on him, rather than accept the truth. Nevertheless, he had been surprised, and even more so, by the powerful roar that Aramis had just uttered at the same time, just a few steps away from him.

She was still bubbling. He could see it. The way she stood was like a lioness ready to pounce on her prey. Her breath was heavy, almost panting, but she remained silent, and Tyrion took advantage of it:

''Very well. You love your family, and I have destroyed them. I will always be a threat. Get rid of me...''

Cersei continued to stare at him, her eyes plunged into his, but said nothing.

Tyrion continued.

''I recognize that without me, you would have had a mother, that without me, you would still have a father... That without me, you would still have two beautiful children...''

He took a deep breath.

''I have contemplated killing you so many times I could never count them...''

It was true, and Cersei could not have known that if he had considered it, he would never have been able to do it. No matter what either of them might say, they were still part of the same family, and a small part of Tyrion, buried deep inside him, still hoped that one day he would be loved by his older sister. It was this crippled part of himself that had always prevented him from wrapping his hands around her throat and strangling her, and the fact that he was perfectly aware that Jaime would never forgive him.

Tyrion took a quick look at the Mountain behind him. The soldier was completely silent, visibly waiting for the queen's orders.

''...so go. Give him the order!''

He heard the sound of a sword drawn behind him, and, for a second, feared that Cersei would actually do it.

But, after long seconds, which seemed absolutely interminable to Tyrion, she suddenly straightened up, leaning back in her chair, looking out the window, refusing to lay her eyes on her brother. Aramis left her aggressive posture and returned to sit beside her.

Tyrion walked over to the small table he was looking at out of the corner of his eye, where a deep red wine decanter with two glasses was enthroned.

When he grabbed the handle of the carafe and poured the liquid into the glasses, one for him and one for Cersei, he felt as if they had gone back in time.

It may have been only six years ago, but it might as well have been an eternity.

Tyrion would have loved so much to be able to go back in time and go back to the past.

It was when he put the glass on Cersei's desk, but she didn't touch it, that he realized what he had done.

He had helped Daenerys come to Westeros, putting his brother and sister, his own family, in mortal danger.

He may not have had the knife at their throats, but it was all the same.

Nevertheless, perhaps he still had a chance to convince Daenerys to let them live if Cersei agreed to help them.

Maybe there was. But before that, Cersei had to be convinced.

That's why he spoke again, while his sister didn't seem to be willing to say anything, her voice slightly shaking with emotion.

''Their death is for me a greater pain than you could ever imagine...''.

''I will not hear it...''

He cut her off:

''I don't care. I loved them. You know I did. Deep in your heart, you know it, if you have an ounce left.''

Of course she knew. Cersei had seen him, when he thought she wasn't there, taking care of Myrcella and Tommen when they were little. She had seen him read stories to them, taking them on his lap, making them laugh. Without knowing why, these visions always left him with a bitter taste, a flavor of missed acts.

She also knew that she couldn't blame him for the death of her children. She knew they were destined to die. The witch had told her this, long before Tyrion killed their father. She knew, but she had told no one but Jaime. She thought that if she didn't talk about it, the prophecy would simply fade from her mind. This had been the case for almost twenty years. But painful memories had awakened when Joffrey died.

Gold would be their crown, gold their shroud.

''It doesn't matter. Your love doesn't matter, your feelings don't matter. It doesn't matter to me what you did, why you did it, I only see what it cost us. It cost us the future of our house.

It cost me my babies, my last little cubs, she wanted to scream at him, loudly, very loudly, to cover the little voice in her head that was blowing in her head, it wasn't Tyrion's fault. Only yours. It's your fault that they died.

She heard Tyrion, but his voice sounded far away, so far away:

''If there is no future, why are we here? Why did you allow me to be here?''

''Not so that my enemies would unite to destroy me.''

''Yes, no, that was not the goal. But you must have a goal, I don't know...''

''And you, what was your goal?''

Go ahead, Tyrion. If it wasn't to destroy our family, what was it? Destroying me?

A squeaky voice whispered in his memory.

And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.

"Make Jon Snow submit to your queen ?''

He sighed:

"Not that way.''

But Cersei could see where he was going.

''But in the end, you want us all to pledge allegiance to her ?''

''Yes.''

But was that really what he wanted?

''Why ?''

''Because I believe she can make this world a better place.''

He wasn't so sure anymore. He had become so wrapped up in the idea over the last two years that Daenerys would be a good queen, that she would change the world, that she would break the wheel, the Breaker of Chains, that he almost didn't see how many people she had killed, that she had burned, and that she was ready to do it all over again.

She was going to make the world a better place, so in the end, maybe it was just evil for good?

"But she was going to destroy King's Landing.''

Yes. She wanted to destroy King's Landing. She had talked about the city, the innocents who lived there, she had talked about fire and blood, a disturbing flame burning in the depths of her amethyst eyes. She wanted to reduce everything to ashes.

Her intonation was not as assured as before, and Cersei didn't miss it.

''She knows herself well. She chose a counselor who could control her worst impulses, instead of feeding them. That's the big difference between you.''

He wasn't sure of that either. After all, Cersei and Daenerys were guilty of the same crimes. Only, they did not have the same reason to commit them.

He had learned how ordeal by combat had been abolished by Tommen when Cersei was planning to request one for the trial brought against her by the Faith Militant. Jaime had told her this, when he had met her in the basement of the Red Keep. Blowing up the Sept of Baelor with wildfire had never been her first option. It was only when she had no choice, when she faced the wall, that she made the only decision that ensured her survival. And, knowing Cersei, he couldn't blame her. He knew that the only thing she would have done the unthinkable, the unimaginable, was to protect Jaime and her children.

But Daenerys, for her part, had not been directly attacked, when she had completely burned down the Lannister armies, when she had coldly murdered father and son Tarly when they refused to bend the knee before her.

Cersei looked him in the eyes, as if she could read his soul through his apple blossoms.

''I don't care about controlling my worst impulses. I don't care if this world is better than it is now. This thing you've dragged here, I know what it is and what it entails. When it jumped on me, I didn't think about this world for a second, not a single thought. The moment it opened its mouth, there, the world disappeared down its dark throat in an instant. All I thought about was keeping those squeaky teeth at a distance, away from those I love the most, away from my family.''

As she spoke, her hand naturally came to rest on her belly, and Aramis gently rubbed her head with it.

This gesture did not go unnoticed.

Of course.

How could he have missed it? How could he not have realized it long before?

''Euron Greyjoy may have had the right idea : boarding a boat with what matters most.''

She thought about how many times Jaime had suggested it to her. Each time, she had refused. She had been wrong, she realized she had been wrong. But it was too late to turn back now.

''You're pregnant.''

And they looked into each other's eyes again, emerald against emerald, like so many times before.

* * *

Tyrion walked out of the office with his head down, followed by Stelsa, with a similar expression.

Sansa asked how it went but didn't need to hear his answer to understand that Cersei had refused.

So the onus was on her to convince her.

She walked into the office wondering what she was going to tell Cersei.

It had been four years since she had last seen her, but it seemed like hundreds of years.

* * *

Cersei smiled slightly when she saw Sansa enter.

She had seen her in Dragonpit but had not had the opportunity to speak to her directly, alone.

So she had hoped that Sansa would come to see her.

She had noticed how much she had grown, how much she had changed.

When she arrived and saw Sansa, she couldn't help but notice how much she looked like her.

Not so much on the physical side, no; they were quite different about that.

Golden hair versus fiery hair, burning emerald eyes versus icy sapphire eyes.

But she seemed to have grown up far too abruptly, far too fast.

The disillusionment had been far too great, and, of that, Sansa would bear the marks for the rest of her life, just as Cersei had been condemned to do.

She had no knowledge of what Sansa had gone through, but Cersei found herself praying to all the gods she no longer believed in (if she had ever really believed in them at all) that it would not be the same as she had. This world was not kind to women, let alone girls, and she had felt a strange sense of compassion when she first saw the Stark girl.

It was obvious that she would one day become a beautiful lady, as beautiful as the young girls whose songs were sung, but the reality was a bunch of pain, sorrow, and horrors, and beauty, innocence, and purity had no place in it.

Sansa came and stood in front of the desk behind which Cersei was sitting.

Seldan, her dæmon, stood beside her, still in wolf form.

Aramis approached Seldan, circled around him, and watched him attentively.

Sansa, for her part, could not help but admire the lion, watch his powerful muscles roll under his skin, think that at the slightest hint, the slightest twitch in Cersei's body, he could jump on her, and kill her here, immediately, watch her golden coat shine with the faint ray of light that managed to pass through the gray clouds and into the room through the window.

When she was little, she had wanted Seldan to become a wolf, or a lion, or a ferocious animal that would be able to defend her.

But now she knew very well that it was not the final form her dæmon would take that would protect her from anything.

She looked Cersei in the eye.

She didn't know where she got the kind of courage that made her speak with a strong and confident voice.

''I'm not going to beat around the bush. We need your help if we are to triumph over the army of the dead.’’

Cersei stared at her in amusement.

''You've changed, little dove.''

Sansa didn't really know how to take that statement. It might as well have been a compliment as anything else.

She looked at Cersei suspiciously.

''Indeed.''

The silence between them quickly became awkward.

Sansa spoke again.

''I am no longer a little dove.''

Cersei laughed slightly.

''Oh no ?''

''No.''

Cersei invited Sansa to sit on one of the chairs and joined hands in front of her.

''So what are you?''

Almost automatically, Sansa replied:

"I am a she-wolf from Winterfell.’’

"No.’’

Cersei's tone was unmistakable. She asked no questions.

''I heard about what happened to Ramsay Bolton. I'm not sure a Stark would have done this.’’

Sansa couldn't think of anything to say in response.

She simply looked down, and looked carefully at her feet, as she had done before entering the pit where the talks were to be held.

She thought about what Ramsay had done to her. She had always been against suffering, even remembering begging Joffrey to let a poor drunken knight live, an eternity ago now. Nevertheless, she did not remember being more satisfied than when those filthy dogs had ripped the flesh from his face.

Cersei's voice drew her from her thoughts.

''He hurt you, didn't he ?''

She looked up at Cersei.

There was something on her face that she never thought she would see in Cersei Lannister's chiseled features: worry.

Not pity, no. Cersei knew well how unbearable pity, how unbearable the affable looks were.

Her voice was soft when she spoke again, even though Sansa had not answered her. She didn't need it. She knew.

''I'm sorry, Sansa.''

Sansa felt tears coming to her eyes.

No.

She wasn't going to cry... She couldn't cry...

And yet a lonely tear ran down his pale cheek.

She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

''It's okay... It's not like it's your fault...''

But before she could hold her tears any longer, her tears flowed freely down her cheek.

Cersei got up from her chair, walked around her desk, and, leaning toward her, gently wiped her cheek with her hand. Her skin was warm, and suddenly, for a brief moment, Sansa felt like a little girl again, and her mother came to comfort her. Aramis had gently approached Seldan and, sniffing the wolf slightly, rubbed his own head against his.

''Dry your tears. I don't like to see you cry.''

Cersei gently but firmly grasped Sansa's face in section, gently forcing her to look into his eyes, just as Catelyn had done years and years ago.

Sansa looked up at her.

''You're not a wolf. You're a lioness. And lions are strong. Stronger than anyone else. No matter what he has done to you, he is nothing. He's worthless. And he'll never hurt you again. He's not the real threat. Not anymore.''

Sansa found herself, in spite of herself, whispering:

"Daenerys is the real threat.''

Cersei looked at her, frowning.

''You don't like her, do you?''

''No. I don't know how she did it, but she managed to persuade Jon to submit the North to her, and I don't like that at all. He didn't even ask my opinion, even though I'm a Stark, and he...

She doesn't finish her sentence. To be perfectly honest, she was a little ashamed of what she was going to say, even if it was only the truth.

Cersei took care of it for her.

''He's just a Snow?''

Sansa couldn't agree, but she didn't deny it either.

She dipped her sapphires in Cersei's emeralds.

''It's not us, who need your help. It's me. I need your help to defeat the White Walkers and then to defeat Daenerys. I refuse to let her become queen of us all.''

At these words, a blinding light filled the room.

At first, Sansa could not discern the source of this sudden strong light, but eventually she realized that it came from her dæmon.

When the light faded, Seldan was no longer a wolf, as he had been when they entered the room.

No.

Now he had become a lion.

Slightly smaller than Aramis, he had a large stature, impressive mane, and a beautiful golden coat.

He had taken his final shape.

Maybe Cersei was right, after all. Maybe she was a lioness, not a she-wolf, as she was convinced.

But she realized she didn't mind.

She was a lioness. So be it.

Sansa thought she saw the shadow of a proud smile on Cersei's lips, as if it were her own daughter, who had just seen her dæmon metamorphose into a lion.

She had an idea that might have seemed totally insane, but perhaps it could work.

''I have a suggestion for you. A kind of alliance. You accept the armistice, and you send your armies to fight at our side. In exchange, I promise you, in the name of the North, that we will not help Daenerys in her conquest of the throne.''

Cersei looked at her, astonished.

''Your brother said he couldn't promise this.''

''I am not my brother. He may have just ceded the North to Daenerys, but you know only too well that the North is too wild to be controlled by outsiders. The Northerners don't know her. They will not be subject to her for long.''

Cersei smiles, this time for real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a little review, it's always a great pleasure ^^


	3. Chapter 2 : Winter is Here

When Tyrion entered the pit, everyone turned their heads towards him, looking at him with hope.

But when they saw the look on his face, they had no trouble guessing what the queen's answer had been.

It was Jon who broke the silence:

"Well ?''

Tyrion shook his head:

"She wouldn't listen.''

It wasn't entirely true. But the true nature of the discussion he had with Cersei was about no one else but the two of them, and eventually Jaime. The others present didn't need to know.

However, before he could reopen his mouth to say that it didn't matter, that they were going to make do with, or rather without, Sansa in turn entered the huge, ruined arena.

And she was followed by Cersei. And there were not one, but two lions accompanying them.

Tyrion opened his eyes, but did not allow himself to hope too quickly.

As soon as he had told him that she was pregnant, he had hoped again that Cersei would accept, for the life of her unborn baby, the fruit of her love with Jaime, proof that a little beauty could still exist in this world of atrocities.

He had hoped, even though deep down he knew that this baby, this little lion cub, would be the very reason why Cersei wouldn't give an inch.

Maybe Cersei was just coming to tell them that they were now mortal enemies, as if there was a need to make it clear.

Maybe Cersei was...

But Cersei's voice, clear and strong, pulled him out of the course of his thoughts.

He noticed that Jaime was not with her.

There was only her, Qyburn, her Hand, and the Mountain.

''My armies will stay where they are. I will not bring them back to the capital.''

Most of the people lowered their heads in resignation, as if the coming of the queen herself had been a good omen.

''They will march north to fight in the Great War with you.''

Everyone raised their heads, Tyrion first, his eyes shining with hope, looking alternately at Cersei and Sansa, who still stood beside her.

Tyrion noted the dark look Daenerys gave to the young Stark, who was still standing proudly beside the one who would always be her enemy.

''Darkness is coming to cover us all. Let us face it together.''

Sansa chooses this moment to move, and comes to move back to Jon, one of the two lions following her faithfully. Tyrion exchanged a glance with Stelsa, sitting next to him, and realized that it must be her dæmon. Daenerys took his eyes off her and began to stare at Cersei.

Cersei looked at Sansa. By mutual agreement, they had decided not to publicly disclose the terms and conditions of their covenant. The fewer people who knew, the better the secret would be kept. In any case, it was better that Daenerys didn't know, since she would have immediately considered it an act of high treason, since the North was supposed to be hers, since Jon had submitted it to her.

''Once the Great War is over, may you not forget that I helped you, without any promise or assurance from anyone.''

She straightened up slightly.

''I expect nothing.''

Cersei had a head carriage and a proud, haughty, majestic appearance, and a cripple buried deep within Daenerys' being could not help but admire her.

They looked very much alike. But Cersei had something, she didn't know what, moreover, almost like charisma, an imposing presence, or perhaps it was the lion always next to her, with the power he radiated, that irritated her. Everybody in the pit had their eyes on her, as if hypnotized, whereas usually it was to her, to the Mother of Dragons, to the Chain Breaker, that they reserved this kind of eye contact.

But not that day.

Cersei turned her head towards her Hand:

''Call our bannermen. All of them.''

She watched them again, each of them, with her poignant emerald eyes, before turning away and leaving the dragon pit, this time for good.

* * *

The sea air was blowing into the hall of Dragonstone castle where the map of Westeros was located, and cooled the room considerably.

Sansa felt out of place.

They were all planning the departure and route of Daenerys' troops to Winterfell, and she had the unpleasant feeling that her uneasiness was readable on her face.

For nothing in the world would Daenerys discover that she had made a pact with Cersei. If the Mother of Dragons were somehow made aware of it, she would not hesitate to have her executed. And Sansa wasn't sure that Jon would be able to stop her.

In any case, he might not even try to stop her.

After all, she was a traitor. Since she remained a Northerner, and Jon had kindly offered the North to Daenerys on a platter, she normally owed her allegiance and obedience.

But, instead, she had made an alliance, an agreement, with the enemy of her supposed queen.

Sansa sighed, and felt Seldan rubbing gently against her legs, as if to comfort her.

Not having been alone since the meeting with Cersei, they hadn't yet had time to discuss her decision, but she hoped to do so soon.

Jon was pointing to various locations on the map to explain his strategy to Daenerys.

''If the Dothrakis are making good progress on the Kingsroad, they will arrive in Winterfell in two weeks.''

Sansa was watching Daenerys conscientiously. She didn't really know where her aversion to the young woman came from, although the way she had managed to get to the North certainly had something to do with it, but she had a sort of bad feeling that naturally made her suspicious of her, much more than her instinct had ever told her to be wary of Cersei.

In a way, it was certain that Daenerys was far more dangerous than Cersei.

But Sansa kept this to herself.

Daenerys, who had been silent almost from the beginning of the meeting of his small council, which was not so small considering the number of people in the room, took the floor, taking a brief look at Grey Worm standing right behind her :

"And the Unsullied?''

It was Jon who answered:

''We can take them by boat to White Harbor, join the Dothraki here on the Kingsroad, and then drive together to Winterfell.''

Jorah Mormont intervened:

''Perhaps you should go by air, Your Grace. Your enemies are many in the North.''

When he uttered that sentence, Daenerys glanced at Sansa in a black look. If there were enemies waiting for her in the North, the girl was certainly at the top of the list. She did not forget that it was apparently she who had succeeded in convincing Cersei, nor the way she had stood proudly by her side, almost openly displaying herself as one of her followers, and strongly suspected that some kind of conspiracy was lurking underneath.

After all, no one had been present during the discussion between Cersei and Sansa, as Tyrion had left the room and the castle before he could hear the slightest echo of anything.

Ser Jorah continued, and she refocused her attention on him, keeping an eye on Sansa nonetheless:

''Thousands of men have fallen fighting your father. All it would take is one angry individual armed with a crossbow to see your silver hair on the Kingsroad. He would know that a single well-placed tile would make him a hero, the man who killed the rival.''

To these words, Daenerys whistled:

''I am not the rival. I am the rightful heiress to the Iron Throne. Cersei Lannister is the rival, the usurper sitting on my father's throne, the throne that is rightfully mine.''

Staring Daenerys straight in the eyes, Sansa said:

''For now, as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne, she is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and you are the potential usurper.''

She was afraid of the burning flame in Daenerys' amethyst eyes that darkened her gaze.

She had never seen such a glow in anyone's eyes before, even Cersei's eyes.

She knew that people called Cersei the "Mad Queen" because of what she had done with the Great Sept of Baelor, but, at that moment, she couldn't help thinking that if people weren't careful, and if Jon continued to support Daenerys, they would lose a Mad Queen and gain a berserk.

It was at that moment that Sansa promised herself that in her lifetime Daenerys Targaryen would never take the Iron Throne. Never.

"Is this an admission of treason, Lady Stark?''

The flame of madness burned as brightly in the depths of her purple irises as her family motto predicted.

Fire and Blood.

Sansa was not surprised.

''It is only the truth. As long as you don't get that throne you covet, as long as Cersei sits on it, the people will not consider you their rightful ruler.''

Jon tried to calm things down by talking to Daenerys:

''And we'll deal with the problems Cersei Lannister is causing as soon as we win the war against the White Walkers, a war in which we absolutely need her help, which we've had great difficulty in obtaining.''

He took an embarrassed look at Sansa, who again felt a wave of anger overwhelming her.

She was the one who had gone to convince Cersei to help them, and as much as she loved Jon, he had better not forget him.

He continued:

''The decision is yours, Your Grace, but if we are allies in this war, it is important for the people of North to see that. If we join White Harbor on the same ship, I believe we will prove it.

Daenerys did not answer him directly, but rather addressed Tyrion, who was standing just to her right, and, who had been silent since the beginning of the Council session, his dæmon seated at his feet:

"And what of the armies of your sister ?''

"As far as I know, they number about fifteen thousand men. Cersei sent some of them back to Casterly Rock, since King's Landing was not large enough to contain such an army in addition to the population already crowded inside. I think that the soldiers still in the capital will be led by my brother, Jaime, and that the sections of the army in the Westerlands will leave under the leadership of the general there with them. But it is likely that they will arrive at Winterfell after us, Casterly Rock is further away than Dragonstone, especially if we go there by sea.''

Daenerys looked at the world that was gathered around her, before setting his eyes on Jon :

''I didn't come to conquer the North. I came to save it. But Ser Jorah is right. It is too risky for me to go there with you. So I'll go to Winterfell with my dragons and meet you there.''

Jon lowered his head, nodding, and Sansa felt like she was about to explode. Daenerys claimed to be the queen, the savior of all the people of Westeros, yet she refused to rise to the level of the people.

The only consequence of this was that the Northerners became distrustful of her, which was already natural when dealing with foreigners, but which would increase if Daenerys did not show them a certain closeness.

Daenerys nodded her head, not having paid any attention to Sansa since their previous altercation, and the meeting was adjourned.

Sansa hurried out of the room, not wanting to spend another second in the presence of the Mother of Dragons; not noticing Jon's worried frown at her.

* * *

The night was dark at Winterfell when a man on horseback galloped through the gates.

The courtyard was deserted, lit by the faint glow of the moon. There was not a trace of a living soul.

Samwell Tarly felt a shiver when he dismounted from his horse, followed by his dæmon, a rabbit, but he didn't know if it was cold or fear.

The castle was even darker than the outside, with no natural light.

The torches on the walls were not lit, as if there was no one in the entire fortress.

Sam didn't like that. He had never been very brave, he knew that, and this atmosphere, which was similar to the one in the horrifying stories that grandmothers used to tell little children by the fire at night to scare them, was not the most reassuring.

Nevertheless, he breathed a relieved sigh when he arrived in front of a half-open door, whose ajar opening let in a soft orange glow, most likely coming from a fire lit in a chimney.

He pushed the heavy wooden panel, and felt his anguish diminish when he saw a young man sitting in what appeared to be a wheelchair by the fireplace with a crow perched on his shoulder.

When the boy turned his head to discover the identity of the visitor, Sam could easily recognize Bran Stark, even though he seemed to have grown up a lot since their previous encounter.

''Samwell Tarly...''

Sam smiles.

''I didn't know if you remembered me...''

Bran continued to stare at him, without blinking:

''I remember everything. You helped us get through the Wall. You are a good man.''

''Thank you, but I'm... I'm not sure about that. What happened to you on the other side of the Wall ?''

''I became the Three-Eyed Raven.''

''Oh... I have no idea what it's like...''

''I can see things that have happened in the past, see what's happening, all over the world... Why did you come to Winterfell?''

Sam hesitated.

''Jon is the one who will lead the fight against the dead, I know that... but he can't do it alone. So I... I've come to help him.''

Sam himself almost laughed at this statement. He wasn't a warrior, Jon knew that. But he knew something, something that had the power to completely change the course of the war that would follow the one against the White Walkers.

''He is on his way back to Winterfell with Daenerys Targaryen. They have also convinced Cersei Lannister to give us her help.''

Sam opened his eyes in amazement:

''Do you know this... from a vision?''

But Bran raised his arm, and Sam could see a rolled message in his hand.

''He must know the truth.''

Ah. So his younger brother knew, too. Sam wondered how many people knew the secret of Jon's true identity.

But he had to be sure they were talking about the same thing.

''What truth?

''The one about his story. Nobody knows it. Nobody but me.

Bran began to stare at the fire burning in the fireplace again; a vision had just appeared to him.

* * *

_The room was sunny._

_Bran had never set foot in this place before, but when he bent down to look out the window, he easily deduced that it was King's Landing from the size of the city below._

_This meant that he must have been in the Red Keep._

_When he turned around, he saw a familiar face, but one he had not seen for too long._

_His father was leaning on a desk with various papers spread out on it, his back hunched over, his wrinkles carved even deeper into his face, his wolf dæmon sitting next to him._

_In front of him stood a woman with long blond hair, golden, shining in the sunlight that bathed the room, straight, proud, accompanied by a majestic lion._

_Bran had seen her only a few times, but remembered her perfectly. How could he have forgotten it?_

_Cersei Lannister looked Eddard Stark straight in the eye, silently._

_But just as she seemed about to leave the office, she asked him:_

_"What about the child?''_

_Ned looked at her, before sighing, his solemn, deep voice._

_''I took him with me and raised him as my bastard. She asked me to protect him.''_

_''But he knows nothing? About his parents, his origins, the fate that should have been his?''_

_''No. And it's better this way.''_

_The queen nodded her head, lowering her gaze._

_The Lord of Winterfell said:_

_"Have you told Robert about this yet?''_

_She raised her head, looking him straight in the eyes._

_''Never. He would have wanted him dead. You witnessed the way he reacted when he learned of the murder of Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen. I didn't want that for Lyanna's son.''_

_She turned her heels, but just as she was about to open the door handle with her hand on it and walk out, Eddard stopped her:_

_''She loved you very much, you know. Like a sister.''_

_Cersei turned around, and stabbed her emerald green eyes into her steel gray eyes, before answering:_

_''I know that. I loved her very much, too.''_

_And she left, followed by her dæmon._

* * *

Bran took a deep breath.

Cersei Lannister knew about Jon's identity. She knew it. She had obviously known his mother well.

He glanced at the crow on his shoulder and then went on to explain everything to Samwell Tarly.

''Actually, Jon is not my father's son. He is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, and Lyanna Stark. He was born in a tower in Dorne. His last name is not Snow. It is Sand.''

Sam protested:

''He's not...''

''In Dorne, the bastards are called Sand.''

''At the Citadel, I transcribed the diary of the Great Septon. He cancelled the union between Rhaegar and Elia. He married Rhaegar and Lyanna in a secret ceremony.''

"Are you sure?''

''That's what the High Septon wrote in his diary. Why would he lie? Can you see anything?''

* * *

_t was now on the banks of a river, sheltered from the sun under the foliage of the surrounding trees._

_There were only three people there except for him._

_A young man with blond hair so white that it looked almost silver, a young woman with brown hair, and an old man, who was wearing the traditional dress of religious men._

_The young couple stood facing the other man, the young man's right hand tied to the young woman's left hand with a ribbon._

_''By the Father, the Smith and the Warrior. By the Mother, the Maiden, the Wench and the Stranger. I am hers, and she is mine. From this moment, until my last day.''_

_Rhaegar Targaryen took Lyanna Stark's face in his hands and kissed her gently on the lips, placing his forehead against hers._

* * *

''Robert's Rebellion was based on a lie. Rhaegar had not kidnapped my aunt. He had not raped her. He loved her. And she loved him. And Jon... Jon's real name is Aegon Targaryen. He was never a bastard... He is heir to the Iron Throne...''

Bran looked closely at Sam :

''He's got to find out... he's got to be told.''

* * *

Jaime listened vaguely to what one of the generals of the Lannister armies who was to accompany him to the North, lost in thought.

He was not in favor of leaving Cersei alone in the Red Keep, especially when she had so rightly pointed out that they were surrounded by enemies, and did not understand what could have motivated her to change her mind so quickly.

The soldier must have realized that his commander was not listening to him.

He was an older man, and he understood perfectly well that there was reason to worry about your family.

He was compassionate and reassuring and put his hand on Jaime's shoulder:

''I know that you are worried about the Queen, and that you don't want to leave to be with her. But you shouldn't worry about that. She will have the best army in the world to protect her.''

Jaime, suddenly drawn from his thoughts by this statement, raised his head, and looked at the man next to him.

''She'll have no army at all if we go north. She has promised to send all of her soldiers to the front against the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead.''

''Yes, and that's why she sent Euron Greyjoy to look for the Golden Company in Essos. They are mercenaries, but they have quite a reputation. They serve well those who pay them well, and, as the saying goes, a Lannister always pays his debts.''

Jaime felt a ball forming in his chest. Sercilia, who had been calm from the beginning, at his feet, stood up, alert, and looked at Jaime.

Cersei couldn't have done this. She couldn't have conspired with Euron Greyjoy behind his back, without telling him anything, anyway.

Or could she?

''What do you mean she sent Euron Greyjoy?''

The general went on, without suspecting for a moment that Jaime didn't know.

''Well, when, during the talks at Dragonpit, Euron Greyjoy announced that he was leaving Westeros to return to the Iron Islands, that was a lie. He did not set sail for Pyke at all; he actually sailed for Essos, to fetch the Golden Company as ambassador for Queen Cersei. And, if all goes well, he must return with twenty thousand men, two thousand horses, and perhaps even elephants. One of the soldiers got the information the gods know how, and it got out, even though we have not had confirmation from the queen herself.''

He was going to continue his explanation, but Jaime, furious, didn't bother to listen to him until the end, and left the room where he was, to go and find Cersei, his dæmon on his heels.

She tried to calm him down as he walked through the corridors of the Red Keep:

''Jaime, she certainly has a good reason...''

''What good reason? I am her brother, her lover, and the commander of her armies. What good reason could she have for hiding such a thing from me?''

''I don't know, but please calm down. If you go to her in this state and you talk to her when you're so angry, the only thing you're going to be able to do, instead of getting an answer from her, is to make her angry.''

He stopped and looked at Sercilia.

''Well, she'll get angry if she wants to. And maybe next time she will consult me before making such an important decision, if there is a next time.''

And he left in a hurry, almost running.

Sercilia walked behind him again, whispering to herself, her head down:

''They are so stubborn, both of them...''

* * *

Jaime opened the door of Cersei's office on the fly, startled her as she was writing something on a parchment, sitting behind her table with Aramis lying at her feet, as usual.

When the lion saw Jaime, he got up and came towards him, almost as a cat would do to beg for a caress, but Jaime didn't give him any intention, and, totally ignoring his twin's dæmon, came and stood in front of her desk, bubbling with rage.

She hadn't looked up from her papers, fully aware of the identity of the person who had entered without asking permission, and she was still writing when Jaime came to stand right in front of her.

''What do you want Jai... What's wrong ?''

She had finally looked at him, and didn't miss the burning fury in his emerald eyes.

He couldn't believe his ears:

''What's wrong? What's wrong? You conspired with Euron Greyjoy without telling me, that's what's wrong!''

Cersei was stunned. She had taken every precaution to make sure Jaime didn't know anything about it. How could he have known?

''Who did you get that from?''

He was livid. He came to tell her how upset he was, hurt in his pride that he had been left out of her plans with that damned arrogant pirate from the Iron Islands, and the only thing she wanted to know was the name of the man who had made him find out?

''One of our generals. But it didn't matter. You sent Euron Greyjoy to find the Golden Company without telling me, even though I am your brother, the leader of our armies, of your armies. You carefully hid it from me, you didn't want me to know about your duplicity...''

Cersei tried several times to cut him off, to make him stop his delusions, but nothing helped. He didn't listen to her, continued her tirade, until she raised her voice:

''Will you shut up for two minutes and let me do the talking, damn it?!''

He cut himself off in full swing, when he was ready to start again, to continue to shout.

''I knew you wouldn't like it if Euron Greyjoy knew about this, and you didn't. But I didn't have a choice.''

He made a sound between laughter and sighing, disdainful, scornful of him for the first time.

''You always have a choice, Cersei.''

She looked him in the eye:

''Exactly. And you're scolding me for doing the one to protect you.''

He frowned.

''What do you mean, protecting me?''

She sighed:

''To be perfectly frank with you, it would have been better for my business if you had never known. But now that you do know, I might as well tell you everything, so you'll stop getting the wrong idea and yelling at me.''

She moved her chair back, got up, and approached him.

''How do you think Daenerys Targaryen would have reacted if she had somehow found out what I was preparing for when I had to face her?''.

Jaime didn't have to think long to find the answer.

''She would have burned us all.''

''She would have burned us all...'' She paused. ''I had hoped that, if you didn't know anything about it, she would spare you, if this plan had failed.''

Cersei continued to look into his own eyes, and, knowing her all his life, he could tell that she was being honest with him.

''But then why did you tell Euron Greyjoy about it?''

''Because his life is worth infinitely less than yours... I don't care if he dies burned alive, I don't care if he suffers...''

She got even closer to him, so close that he could hear his breathing, so close that he could feel his body heat.

She leaned her forehead against his, and he let her.

She whispered:

''Fuck everyone who isn't us, remember ?''

Tears almost came to his eyes. He regretted getting carried away. Cersei had meant well, she just didn't want him to get involved so as not to endanger him.

He captured her lips in a fiery kiss, charged with all the emotions that had just gone through him, through them.

They did not separate their lips until many seconds later.

She moved back.

''There's something else I need to tell you, before you go.''

She had a serious, serious look on her face.

He waited for her to continue, silent.

''I may have found a way to ensure our survival.''

''But you said Daenerys Targaryen couldn't be trusted.''

''Daenerys Targaryen, no. But Jon Snow can.''

He frowned again.

''He made it truly clear to us at Dragonpit that he could not promise us anything, as he has pledged his allegiance to Daenerys.''

''That's because he didn't know.''

"He didn't know what?''

She took a deep breath, as if she was about to divulge something particularly unpleasant, or important, or both.

''Daenerys Targaryen is not the rightful heiress to the Iron Throne.''

''But she is the sister of Rhaegar...''

''Yes. And Jon Snow is his son.''

Jaime was stunned.

''How is that possible?''

''That's the son he had with Lyanna Stark. They got married secretly. I promised Lyanna I wouldn't say anything.''

''And who else knows about it?''

''As far as I know, I was the only one with Ned Stark. Lyanna was my best friend, she told me, but she made me swear not to tell anyone. I've kept my word, until now.''

''Jon Snow doesn't want the Iron Throne.''

''He doesn't want it, but the apparent honor of the Stark family means he'll do his duty if he has to. If we lose to Daenerys, all we have to do is disclose his identity, and he will be the most legitimate to become king. Since we will have helped them against the White Walkers, we can hope that he will show clemency. But the ideal would be a victory for our camp.''

He continued to look at her, completely absorbed by what she was telling him.

''By the way... what made you change your mind?''

She waited a few seconds before answering him, choosing her words carefully:

''I've made some kind of a pact with Sansa Stark.''

"A pact?''

''I promised her my help, and, in exchange, she promised not to help Daenerys when she came to confront us.''

Jaime nodded.

Cersei moved closer to him, and took him in her arms.

It was rare for her to take the initiative. Usually, she was always ready to give, but only if he asked for it.

He felt her warm tears streaming down her neck as she buried her face in it and he closed his embrace around her.

A little further on, Aramis rubbed his head against Sercilia's neck.

''I still don't want you to go. I don't want you to die without me.''

''I cannot die without you. You are always with me, always, everywhere.''

She grabbed her face in her hands:

''Promise me. Promise me you'll come back alive.''

Her tears seemed ready to continue to flow from her eyes.

She took her good hand and placed it on her belly where a very slight bump was beginning to form.

''We can't live without you.''

He kissed her on the forehead:

''I will return. I promise you.''

* * *

It was when Jaime passed the gates of King's Landing, followed by the Lannister armies, that the first flakes began to fall on the capital.

Winter was here.

He turned around, looked one last time at the Red Keep behind him, maybe for the last time, maybe not, who knew?

He regretted every step his horse took.

Every step that took him away from Cersei.

Every step that brought him closer to Winterfell and the North.

Every step that perhaps brought him closer to his death.

He shook his head.

He was leaving, but he would return. He knew he would. He had promised Cersei.

He looked at the thin piece of scarlet cloth clinging to his armor.

He smiled. It was one of the first times he had the opportunity to wear one of Cersei's favors in public, even though they weren't old enough for it anymore, even though they should have been able to do it before.

He would always come back.

Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a little review, it's always a great pleasure ^^


	4. Chapter 3 : Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> Before today's chapter, I just wanted to tell you that I'm creating a French/English Discord server for authors and readers of Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire fanfictions.  
> Authors will be able to showcase their fics, readers will be able to share their readings and make recommendations of fics to read. Of course, it can also be a place for exchange between authors and readers, and where authors can be helped if needed, beta's where they can get their texts translated, and readers can place fanfiction "orders".  
> Don't hesitate to let me know in the reviews if you are interested.  
> The link should arrive very soon ^^
> 
> On this, good reading ^^

As soon as the towers of Winterfell castle began to appear through the thick fog in the sky, Sansa had the pleasant feeling that she had finally returned home.

It might seem strange to think of the place that had been the scene of so many of the horrors that had happened to her in her life as her home. But they had helped forge who she was today.

Perhaps Cersei was right.

Maybe deep down she was a lioness. And lions are strong.

Stronger than anyone else.

She rode side by side with Jon.

Seldan walked quietly beside her horse, occasionally rubbing his head against his leg.

Daenerys would join them with Drogon and Rhaegal soon after.

As soon as they arrived at the outskirts of the castle, they were cheered by the Northerners, delighted to see the Starks returning to Winterfell after they had entered enemy territory.

But the cheers of the crowd were soon replaced by shouts of fear and admiration as two huge shadows hovered over their heads.

The Mother of Dragons had just appeared.

One of the creatures roared a blood-curdling roar that only served to make the Northerners' screams even louder.

As they entered the castle courtyard, Jon jumped off his horse almost before he had come to a complete stop to go and greet Bran, whom he had not seen since he had left Winterfell for Castle Black eight long years earlier.

He hugged him, then backed away, looked at him, and said to him:

''Look at you. You've become a man.''

But Bran replied evasively, only a faint smile on his lips:

"Almost.''

Drogon, still hovering above them in the sky, began his descent.

All the people retreated as they watched the gigantic silhouette grow a little larger with each passing second.

Finally, it landed, and Daenerys descended.

She smiled. Her arrival had had the desired effect.

But her smile soon died on her lips, when she only read the mistrust in the eyes of the Northerners, which contrasted sharply with the warm welcome Sansa and her brother had received.

Jon crept up to her, and whispered to her:

''I warned you. Northerners are wary of outsiders.''

Then he addressed the township:

"May I present Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen.''

Daenerys approached Sansa, who had also dismounted from her horse, and said to her in a loud voice, to make sure that everyone could hear her: ''This is Queen Daenerys of the House of Targaryen:

''Thank you for receiving us under your roof, Lady Stark. The North is as beautiful as your brother has praised it to me.''

Sansa found herself forced to answer with a polite but forced smile:

"Winterfell is open to you, Your Grace.''

But Daenerys was not fooled. She knew perfectly well that Sansa Stark did not like her, and was certainly not pleased to welcome her into her home.

But she had no choice. Daenerys was the queen, and Jon had submitted the North to her in exchange for his promise to help them with the problem of the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead.

This meant that Sansa would have to do as she commanded, or die for treason.

But they were both interrupted by Bran, who unexpectedly raised his voice, and at the same time drew all eyes to him:

''Come on... Let's not waste time...''

He then spoke to Daenerys:

''The King of the Night has taken your dragon from you. He became one of them. The Wall fell. The dead are marching south.''

All looked at each other, knowing full well what that meant.

* * *

Bran, Sansa, Jon, Daenerys, Tyrion and Varys were seated in the Great Hall of Winterfell, in front of most of the Stark banners already there.

It was Bran who spoke:

''As soon as we heard what had happened at the Wall, I ordered our banners to fall back to Winterfell. Lord Umble?''

Little Ned Omble, a boy just eleven years old, stood up to face his overlords.

Sansa asked him:

"When are your troops due?''

The young boy answered shyly:

"We need more horses and wagons, if you don't mind, my lady...''

He hesitated for a long time, looking at Jon :

''...and my Lord...''

And even longer by staring at Daenerys :

''...and my Queen... Sorry.''

Daenerys smiles slightly. Finally a Northerner who had understood that Jon had pledged his allegiance to her, and subdued the North.

''You will have as many as you can. Make haste to the Last Hearth, get your men back as soon as possible," said Sansa.

Little Ned Umble nodded energetically, and sat down.

Jon then ordered:

''You must also send ravens to the Night's Watch. Holding the strongholds no longer serves any purpose, the rallying point will be here.''

Maester Wolkan bowed his head:

''At once, Your Grace...''

''Your Grace ?!''

The smile that had formed on Daenerys' lips disappeared immediately. If some of the Northern Lords seemed to have accepted his authority, it was obviously not the case for everyone, and certainly not for the young lady who had just spoken emphatically and stood up, furious, with her dæmon perched on her shoulder in the form of a hawk:

''You have lost that title, as far as I know.''

There were approving murmurs of approval throughout the congregation.

Lyanna Mormont took the floor again:

''When you left Winterfell, you were king. You are now only... I don't know what you are anymore. A lord? Nothing at all?

The northern lords cheered his words more fervently.

Jon smiled at her: "Jon, you're a lord:

"It doesn't matter.''

This was certainly not the answer the girl was expecting, as she continued, even more angry than before.

It doesn't matter ?! We made you King in the North!''

The men and women in the hall didn't even bother to whisper any more. From now on, they spoke aloud, supporting Lyanna Mormont.

Jon silenced them by raising his voice slightly:

''It's true, my lady.''

He smiled at her again.

''This is the greatest honor that has ever been bestowed on me. I am forever grateful for your trust. But when I left Winterfell, I told you that without allies we would die. I brought those allies here to fight alongside us. I had to make a choice. My crown, or protect the North. I chose the North.''

Exclamations came again from all sides, until Tyrion rose, and, followed by Stelsa, walked into the middle of the hall:

''If the coming war leaves any survivors, they will owe their lives to Jon Snow. He risked his life to show us that the threat was real. It is because of his courage that we have brought the most powerful army the world has ever known. We brought two dragons to the height of their power. And soon, the Lannister army will ride north to support our struggle.''

The Northmen held their fury no longer.

Daenerys didn't show it, but inside she was very pleased to see that her enemy's troops would certainly not be better received by the Northerners.

Lyanna Mormont intervened again:

''Forgive me, but how can we be sure?''

Once again, she was acclaimed by the crowd, who started shouting again:

''You can't trust the Lannisters!''

''The Lannisters are all liars!''

Sansa imposed silence:

''I know that our people have not been friends in the past. But we must fight together today, or die. When I went to King's Landing, I managed to convince Queen Cersei to help us. She promised me that her armies would march North.

''And you believed her?!''

Seldan, under the table, rubbed his head against her. Sansa took a deep breath:

''Yes, I believed her. I have my reasons, but I am sure she will keep her word. The Lannister armies, about fifteen thousand men, and some of the best soldiers in Westeros, led by Ser Jaime himself, are expected to join us shortly.''

Brienne, standing behind Sansa, felt her heart leap in her chest.

Jaime was coming to Winterfell. Perhaps she would have a chance...

Bran began to speak again, and everyone turned their heads towards him again:

''How are we supposed to feed the most powerful army the world has ever seen?''

Sansa agreed:

''Our reserves may last until the end of winter, but that was without counting the Dothraki, the Unsullied, and two dragons at the height of their power. What does a dragon feed on anyway?''

Sansa didn't miss the murderous look that Daenerys gave her as she replied:

"Anything he likes.''

* * *

''Do you really think Cersei will keep her promise?''

Tyrion looked at Varys, who had joined him on the castle ramparts, accompanied by his dæmon, a puma.

''I like to think that there is more than perfidy in my sister.''

''Our queen doesn't seem to think so.''

Tyrion turned around.

''I know Cersei. I don't know what Sansa may have said or promised her to convince her, but I think she was sincere when she returned to Dragonpit to tell us of her decision.''

Varys looked sceptical.

''I can believe you. After all, you're the one who knows her best among us.''

Tyrion knew immediately that his friend wasn't telling him everything.

''You know, it's often said that everything that comes before a ''but'' in a sentence doesn't count.''

Varys inspired:

''But we must beware of Cersei: she has buried absolutely everyone who ever recklessly underestimated her. It is essential that we don't make the same mistake."

Tyrion sighed:

''Overestimating your enemies can sometimes be as dangerous as underestimating them. Once she sends her armies to us, Cersei will have nothing left to defend herself. She will not be able to resist for long. She is intelligent: if she shows a little common sense, she will surrender peacefully. And if she does, Daenerys may show her mercy and let her live. She will have no choice, if she wants to survive: she is surrounded by enemies.''

''If she really helps us at all. But this means nothing. You, who know her best here, do you seriously think that your sister is the type to surrender and bend the knee without saying or doing anything, and simply accept her defeat?''

Tyrion sighed again. Varys was right, of course. Cersei would never give up power, especially when she had lost so much to get it. But he wanted to believe that the little lion cub growing inside her would persuade her to avoid a war at all costs.

''Cersei found a new reason to fight, to live. She will help us, and I dare to hope that she will not choose violence, because she will have it if she wants it.''

''Maybe, but the last person who predicted Cersei would fall because she was surrounded by enemies was Olenna Tyrell. It didn't work out very well for her, I'm afraid. And just when we thought Cersei was in the depths of her downfall, she pulled off a real masterstroke, wiping everyone in her path off the map, without the need for any armed force. And there she was, propelled from the status of a mocked and humiliated dowager queen to that of the first queen to reign over the Seven Kingdoms. Your sister has always accustomed her enemies to be one, even two steps ahead of them. We can't let that happen.''

There was a long silence between them, as if everyone was thinking about what they were going to say.

Varys was the first to speak again:

''Besides, we can't ignore the fact that the people's favor may not be won in Daenerys. Just look at the welcome the Northerners have given her.''

''The Northerners are loyal to Jon Snow.''

''Yes, but they were pretty pissed off at him because of what he did to Dragonstone. You saw it with your own eyes just as well as I did. What do you think will happen if ever, by the greatest misfortune, Jon Snow perished during the Long Night ?''

"The Northerners will be loyal to Sansa.''

''Exactly. But, from what I have seen, Sansa Stark seems to me to be more a partisan of Cersei Lannister than Daenerys Targaryen. We have to keep in mind that after all, she is the one who managed to convince your sister where you and even Jaime failed.''

Tyrion didn't see very well what Varys was getting at.

''Do you think Sansa has entered into some kind of coalition with Cersei?''

''That's not what I said. I just pointed out that we have to be vigilant. We can never know who our real friends or allies are.''

With that, he left, leaving Tyrion alone with his thoughts.

Was it really possible that Sansa and Cersei had an alliance they had chosen not to talk about?

He looked at Stelsa, as if to ask her whether she believed it or not.

He didn't need a verbal answer from her dæmon to understand her point of view on the matter.

He sighed. At some point or another, he should have a serious conversation with Sansa.

* * *

A little further on, Sansa was also on the ramparts of Winterfell.

She was looking at the huge white expanse, but she couldn't help thinking that it would most likely soon be ravaged by the White Walkers and the death they were bringing with them.

She was soon joined by Arya.

She had not seen or spoken to her since she had returned from King's Landing.

And obviously Arya was hiding something from her. Something that was upsetting her.

''Sansa, I have to tell you something...''

Sansa looked at her:

"I listen to you.''

Arya seemed to hesitate, then took a deep breath:

''While you were away, I executed Littlefinger for treason. He was plotting to reclaim Winterfell and the North.''

Sansa answered nothing. She didn't know how she should feel about the news.

Of course, Littlefinger was the one who had sold her to the Boltons, like a broodmare.

But she hadn't forgotten how he had killed her aunt, without a second's hesitation, to protect her.

Faced with her sister's lack of response, Arya, frowning, worried:

"Are you all right?''

''It's a little strange. In his own horrible way, I really think he loved me. But you did the right thing.''

Arya shrugged:

''I was just the executioner. Bran is the reason we were able to trap him.'''

Sansa nodded silently.

Arya continued:

''If you had been there, you would have pronounced the sentence. You are the Lady of Winterfell.''

Sansa looked at Arya:

"Doesn't that worry you at all?''

Arya shook her head:

''I wouldn't have been as good a lady as you are. I must have been a different person. I wouldn't have survived what you went through. ''

''You would have survived. I've never met anybody as strong as you.''

Arya was speechless.

''That's the nicest thing I've ever heard out of your mouth. ''

Sansa sketched out a half-smile:

''Well... Don't expect another one. You're still just as strange and boring as ever.''

Arya looked at the immense plain under the snow, then at the forest.

''Winter is here. In winter we must protect each other. Take care of each other...''

''Father used to say that. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives...''

Sansa wasn't really sure that this maxim still applied to her. What Cersei had told her had cast doubt in her mind.

She no longer really knew who she was.

A little dove? A she-wolf? A lioness? Nothing at all?

Arya's voice drew her out of her thoughts:

"I miss him...''

Sansa wasn't sure if it was her voice that answered her sister. She didn't recognize her anymore:

"Me too.''

She looked down, refusing to meet Arya's eyes.

* * *

If it had snowed on King's Landing only a short time before, there was not the slightest trace of it left.

The sun was shining softly outside, the sky was blue, and it almost looked like spring.

Cersei had been informed by some servants that Iron Fleet boats had been seen entering Blackwater Bay.

She had therefore climbed the ramparts of the Red Keep, followed by Aramis, to find out the truth of the servants' claims.

They had not been mistaken.

The hundreds of ships of the Iron Fleet led by Euron Greyjoy, with huge black sails with a golden cuttlefish and a kind of red eye were now clearly visible.

Cersei smiled. He had brought back the Golden Company.

This could only be a good omen.

She saw from the corner of the eye Qyburn arrive, almost running, his monkey-dæmon perched on his shoulder.

When he finally got close to her, he had to pause for a few seconds to catch his breath.

Still panting, she noticed that the anxiety deepened the old man's wrinkles even more than usual when she turned her head towards him.

She frowned, the anxiety coming immediately into her eyes.

If Qyburn arrived in such a hurry, looking as if she had been looking for her everywhere, it was clearly not a good sign.

Could it be that he had heard from Jaime?

Her blood was only a trick.

If that was the case, it must have been bad news.

Aramis came and rubbed his head against her hand, as if to reassure her.

He finally came to his senses:

"Your Grace, unfortunately I bring terrible news...''

Oh no...

"Jaime?''

Qyburn shook his head.

Cersei exhaled deeply, when she didn't even realize she had held her breath.

"No. The dead have breached the Wall.''

Cersei nodded her head. It was obviously not good news for anyone, but she still preferred to learn this rather than to know that something bad had happened to her twin brother.

''Well. There was no point in living on love and fresh water. We knew it was going to happen at some point."

The ships of the Iron Fleet were getting closer and closer to the port.

Euron Greyjoy would be here any minute, accompanied by the captain of the Golden Company, Harry Strickland.

Cersei left for the throne room, accompanied by Aramis, Qyburn, and Ozymandias, his monkey.

Halfway there, she challenged Qyburn:

''Do you by any chance know the whereabouts of Ser Bronn of the Blackwater?''

''No, Your Grace, I haven't the slightest idea. Perhaps he's in one of the city's brothels. But may I ask what you want with this mercenary?''

''I would have liked to see him after our meeting with Euron Greyjoy. I would like to hire his services.''

''Is there anyone you'd like to get rid of?''

Cersei looked at him, looking slightly amused:

''Quite a few people. Daenerys Targaryen, Euron Greyjoy, among others, although we still need him and his fleet for the moment. But that's not why I'm looking for him."

''For what, then?''

''Jaime once told me how Ser Bronn saved his life. During the attack of Daenerys after the sack of Highgarden, for example. I would have liked to ask him if, for a reward, he could go to the North, and prevent this beautiful golden idiot from dying before he became a father again.''

Qyburn knew that she was very worried about her brother. He was able to sense it, from the few years he had spent with her.

He knew when it was the flame of fury, worry or sadness dancing in her wildfire-colored eyes.

And she spoke less than usual, was less attentive, since Jaime had left.

Qyburn knew that this kind of love was decried by everyone, that it was a sin, the fruit of evil.

And yet it had never bothered him.

From the moment he first saw the Queen with her brother, nothing seemed more natural, nothing seemed better than the love they had for each other.

They loved each other, and they made each other feel good, no matter what people said. So Qyburn didn't see that as a sin.

After all, the world was full of ignorant people.

Most had judged the experiments he had conducted at the Citadel to be heresy, even though he knew very well that he could have made great discoveries if he had been allowed to practice.

So if most judged that Cersei and Jaime Lannister's love was wrong, it must have been good.

''As soon as the interview with Euron Greyjoy is over, I will go and fetch him and bring him back to you, Your Grace.''

''There's no need to bring him to me. Inform him immediately of his mission. The sooner he leaves, the better. I'll see that several gold chests are ready. And tell him that I promise him Highgarden if he carries out the task I entrust to him.''

"Good, Your Grace.''

At last they had arrived at the doors of the throne room.

Cersei sighed. She had no lost love for the Iron Island pirate. Her feelings for him were more akin to contempt and disgust, but she still needed him. She was lucid: without his help and his fleet, she could not hope to defeat Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons.

Nor did she have the slightest desire to be in his presence without Jaime. He had told her what Euron had asked about her, but she was not surprised.

She knew perfectly well why he was there, what he had come for. And she wanted only one thing.

Not to have to give it to him, forcefully or willingly, until Jaime came back to her.

She pushed open the doors and entered.

The Iron Throne was there, standing out in spite of the darkness in the room.

The flames burning in the braziers at the foot of the columns that supported the ceiling gave the room an almost disturbing glow, as if the Red Keep itself represented Cersei's present state of mind.

She sighed again as she climbed the steps and sat down.

If she absolutely had to see Euron Greyjoy, it had better be to hear good news from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a little review, it's always a great pleasure ^^


	5. Chapter 4 : The Golden Company

Cersei had only been sitting on the Iron Throne for a few seconds, Aramis at her side, when the doors of the hall opened again to reveal Euron Greyjoy, his arrogant smile on his lips, and another man whom Cersei had never seen before, but whom she assumed to be Harry Strickland, the captain of the Golden Company.

They were both accompanied by their dæmons, Euron Greyjoy by his vulture, who looked just as haughty as he, and Harry Strickland by what appeared to be a coyote.

When they stood just before the Iron Throne, both men bowed.

It was Euron Greyjoy who spoke first:

''My queen, I have brought you the Golden Company from Essos, just as you asked me to.''

Cersei sketched what might have looked like an attempt at a smile.

''And I am most grateful to you.''

The vulture left Euron's shoulder and approached Aramis, who did not pay the slightest attention to the bird flying around him.

Cersei then addressed Harry Strickland:

"Twenty thousand men, is that it ?''

"Yes, Your Grace, although we lost a few on the journey.''

He punctuated his sentence with a sharp glance at the pirate who was standing beside him, and who thought it appropriate to justify his words:

''They cheated at dice.''

Then, frowning as if he was thinking, as if he was able to think:

''Or maybe it was me who cheated. Either way, it was cheating.

Cersei looked up to the sky, before taking a exasperated glance at Qyburn to her right, who gave it back to her. She had to fight against the urge to pester this incompetent man. Instead, she clutched her hands around two sword-handles that came out of the armrests of the Iron Throne until they bruised her palms.

Euron raised his head, looking into her eyes:

''They were bad anyway, we didn't need them.''

Cersei let her annoyance and irritation take over.

''I don't know how you do it on the Iron Islands, and I'm not sure I want to know. But know that in Westeros all soldiers matter. Sometimes it only takes one warrior to make a difference on the battlefield. I don't want to hear any more stories like this, about soldiers I pay to be killed for fighting over stupidities''.

She spoke to the mercenary leader again:

"Horses ?''

"Two thousand.''

Cersei looked at Qyburn again.

''I also heard that you have elephants, but my Hand warned me that you may not be able to bring them here.''

''He is right, Your Grace. They are excellent animals, but they do not stand up well to long sea voyages.''

Cersei nodded. She had expected this kind of disappointment.

''Good. In any case, you are welcome to King's Landing, Captain Strickland.''

The man bowed again.

''We look forward to fighting on your behalf, Your Grace.''

And he left the throne room.

Euron did not, much to Cersei's dismay.

He climbed one of the steps that separated him from her, and gave her a smile that revealed all her teeth, some of which were black.

Cersei had to take it upon herself to hide her disgust.

The Mountain, which had not moved from the beginning on the left side of the Throne where he was standing, moved forward, but Euron did not blink:

"Am I also welcome in King's Landing?''

''You are a faithful friend to the Crown, and a distinguished guest.''

He moved a little closer to her, and his vulture left Aramis, who straightened himself up, to come and sit on the Iron Throne backrest, watching Cersei in a way that she did not like at all, as Robert had watched her for years, as men had never stopped looking at her. Like a particularly appetizing piece of meat.

''Excellent. As a faithful friend to the Crown and a distinguished guest ...''

Cersei knew very well what was about to follow, what he was about to ask of her, and all her muscles had tense up, as if her body itself was refusing the pirate's advances.

''I was hoping we could have a private conversation.''

He climbed a step again. This time Aramis came and stood in front of her, showing off his impressive fangs.

''When the war is over, according to our arrangement.''

''Sometimes wars go on for years...''

Cersei contemplated him coldly:

''If you want a whore, buy one. If you want a queen, win her.''

''How? I avenged the daughter of this queen. I gave her an army, and the Iron Fleet. Yet she shows me no affection.''

No, Cersei felt like shouting. No, she didn't. I love Jaime, I love my brother, I love my lover, and you'll never get to her even if only by ankle.

He made a theatrical pout, and put his two hands together on his chest, at the precise spot where his heart was beating and where Cersei dreamed of sticking a knife, a dagger, a sword, anything.

''My heart is broken by it.''

Cersei stood up. She had to be careful what she was going to say. One wrong word, and she could end up with the Iron Fleet missing, which would ensure her defeat against Daenerys.

''You are insolent. I've executed others for less than that.''

Euron came a little closer to her, despite the lion now growling frankly.

''They were less exciting... more boring...''

''You're not boring, I'll give you that. You're the most arrogant man that ever crossed my path.''

Euron smiles:

''Anyway, I'm necessarily better than the fat king...''

Cersei looked at him, and feigned amusement:

''You insult the memory of my husband.''

''Have I offended you?''

''Not at all. You are right about that. Robert took a different whore every night, but the female body has always remained a mystery to him.''

Euron's arrogant smile widens.

Cersei walked away, getting ready to return to her apartments. She had to know if Ser Bronn had accepted her offer, and, in any case, Qyburn had to check on her condition, and that of the baby.

She heard the Ironborn in her back:

''Maybe I'm even better than the Kingslayer... After all, I have two good hands...''

Cersei felt herself turning pale as a sheet at the mention of Jaime. Tears came to her eyes, and she swallowed, refusing to let them fall. Euron could not see her crying, he had no right to. She had to be absolutely stolid when it came to dealing with him.

She turned to look Euron in the eye. Anyway, he wasn't smart enough to perceive the flame caused by the pain of separation with her twin, with her other half, in her burning emeralds.

''You seem to like risking your head...''

Having visibly taken this as an invitation to follow her, she had to stop and turn around to tell him:

"I want to be alone now...''

And she left without looking back. Aramis, after a last fire against Euron, followed her, and disappeared with her into the corridors of the Red Keep.

* * *

Bronn was half lying on a bed, surrounded by three young girls who kept talking about what had happened after the sack of Highgarden, one of whom was busy pulling him out of his shoes, when he heard someone call out to him:

"Ser Bronn of the Blackwater?''

He immediately recognized this voice as that of the old man who served as the Queen's Hand.

He raised his head and saw him:

"Is this a joke?''

He stared at the man, who had his monkey-dæmon perched on his shoulder, while his own dæmon, a coyote, stood up.

''Forgive me for interrupting, but the queen has asked me to hurry up.''

Bronn slapped the prostitute's buttocks as she straddled him:

''I'm sorry, girls. We'll see each other again soon, I hope.''

As he got up and got dressed, one of the young women moved closer and closer to Qyburn, narrowing the space between them, almost coming to indecently rub against him as his dæmon-libellule approached Ozymandias.

''If you ever feel lonely, I have a soft spot for old men.''

Qyburn watched her walk away, before saying:

''Poor girl. The pox will win within a year.''

He did not answer Bronn's question as to which of the three he was talking about, but rather came directly to the reason for his visit:

''The Queen's brothers have made promises to you which they have not kept. Her Grace would like to make amends for this failure.''

Bronn stared at him, looking slightly incredulous, as he pulled up his pants:

''One day she gave me a castle and a wife. Well, that didn't stop her from kicking me out.''

''It was Ser Jaime's doing, not hers. When Queen Cersei wants something, she pays in advance, in gold.''

Seeing that he had aroused the mercenary's interest, Qyburn continued:

''Several chests of gold, in fact. These chests are in a cart, waiting for you outside.''

''I sense that she wants to get rid of someone, but she doesn't want to burden her soldiers with them... If it is the Queen of Dragons she wants to obliterate...''

''She has other plans for the Targaryen girl.''

''Does she? Well, I wish her good luck...''

''It is not for your murderous skills that she wishes to hire your services. She would like you to leave for the North, and see to it that Ser Jaime survives the Long Night.''

Bronn looked at him again:

''I'm a mercenary, not a fucking bodyguard. People pay me to kill the person of their choice, and that's the end of it.''

''Yet you have already saved the life of Ser Jaime Lannister.''

''He still owed me money. After all, isn't it said that a Lannister always pays his debts? Well, he had to pay his, and he still hasn't.''

''Exactly. The Queen promises you Highgarden. If you perform correctly the task that Her Grace entrusts to you, the castle, the Reach, and all the titles attached to it will be yours.''

Bronn laughed sarcastically:

''What a fucking family... They are the only ones who can promise such things...''

''When I was expelled from the Citadel, I saw myself dying poor and lonely. But in recognition of my services, she graciously appointed me Hand of the Queen. So, what would she not do for the one who would see to it that her brother did not die and came back to her ?"

Bronn seemed to think about the proposal.

* * *

''Good. From what I can see, the baby is doing well. A little small, maybe, but nothing abnormal under the circumstances.''

Cersei frowned as she looked at Qyburn:

''What do you mean ?''

''It's not uncommon for the baby to be slightly smaller than average if the mother is pregnant later. But everything looks perfectly normal to me in your case.''

''Are you sure?''

''Absolutely. You have nothing to worry about. You and your baby are doing just fine.''

Cersei nodded her head as she began to get dressed:

''Did you manage to find Ser Bronn ?''

''Yes, in Littlefinger's brothel. He accepted your offer.''

Cersei nodded again.

There was a silence between them, until she broke it:

''I've never seen you go there.''

Qyburn looked at her with an interrogative look:

"Where?''

''In a brothel. Not that I've ever watched you come and go, of course, but I'm surprised that a man doesn't go there. The only man I know who's never been there is Jaime.''

''No, you're right. I never go there, and I'd rather spend my money on other things than invest it in the pleasures of the flesh.''

Cersei emitted a kind of noise halfway between laughter and sigh:

''If you only need two or three whores to finish fulfilling your desires, I'll take care of paying them for you. As a meager compensation for your good and loyal services.''

Qyburn looked the most serious man in the world when he answered:

"I don't need compensation of any kind. I have sworn my loyalty and trustworthiness to you, and it is yours for all time.''

Cersei sighed:

''You are quite the only one.''

''I don't think so.'' He pointed to her belly, which was beginning to form a very slight, almost invisible bump. ''And this is proof of it.''

Cersei plunged her emerald eyes into his own:

''I'd like to believe you.''

''You have no news of your brother?''

"No. None.'' The anxiety was now clearly visible in her lovely features. ''I am beginning to wonder if he will ever get there.''

Qyburn had a reassuring smile:

''He will come back to you. I'm sure he will. He had no desire to go north and leave you.''

Cersei looked at him curiously:

''And you don't feel like leaving either? Don't you have a wife and children? I've never asked you.''

''No. Neither one nor the other. I don't need them. Not when I spend my days with the most admirable woman I know.''

Cersei had a smile, a real smile, and Qyburn thought that if she could, she would be even more beautiful. It was as if the sun's own rays came in through the window when it was pitch black outside.

''When I was thrown out of Oldtown, people treated me like an outcast. All of them. But not you. And you made me your Hand. It was the greatest honor anyone could give me, and I will be forever grateful to you.''

''People say I'm hateful. But you don't agree with them.''

It wasn't a question. It was an observation.

Qyburn smiles again.

''No. I don't agree with them. I'd heard about you before I met you in person, and most people did say you were hateful. That you were a horrible person. I didn't believe them. I heard their stories, which they told insulting you in every way, because of the war that you had allegedly started with your son. But you fascinated me. I wanted to get to know you more and more. So when your brother arrived at Harrenhal, with one hand missing, I jumped at the chance. I nursed his hand, and I came with him to King's Landing. And I met you. I tried, but I never managed to see the monster that the people described to me. I witnessed the way your father treated you, ignoring you and favoring your twin. It pained me greatly that he didn't want to see that his greatest strength was his daughter rather than his son. I wasn't fortunate enough to have children, but I know I would never have treated them that way, regardless of their gender. You're the strongest person I know, and I guess in a way you just naturally took their place. In a sense, I've seen you, and I see you as the daughter I never had.''

Cersei was touched by this confession. Qyburn could tell by the way she looked at him. Her eyes were filled with warmth like he had only seen them be when she was with her twin brother.

''Thank you...''

He walked towards her and took her hands in his.

His monkey jumped from his shoulder and, in a sight as astonishing as it was touching, placed his hand on the snout of Cersei's majestic lion and gently caressed it.

''Believe it or not, but you deserve to be loved, Cersei.''

* * *

Daenerys was alone, in front of the fireplace, in the rooms she shared with Jon at Winterfell, when someone knocked on the door.

When she invited the person in, the heavy wooden doors opened to reveal Ser Jorah, followed by his dæmon, a bear.

"Forgive me, Khaleesi...''

Daenerys turned around and smiled at him:

"When did you offend me, my friend?''

The knight offered him a sad smile:

"On many occasions...''

''And long ago all is forgiven.''

Jorah continued:

''You have forgiven me, it is true, despite my failings. When I heard you named Tyrion Hand of the Queen, it broke my heart.''

Daenerys frowned, disappointed:

"When I named him Hand of the Queen, I thought you were gone forever...''

Jorah reassured her:

''You made the right choice.''

''I had the impression that you didn't like him very much...''

''It's true. He couldn't keep quiet on the boat between Volantis and Meereen, and I had to fight the urge to throw him in the water.'' He had a small laugh. ''But a beautiful spirit underlies all his words.''

Daenerys wasn't sure she understood what he was getting at.

''But it's not to talk about Tyrion Lannister that I came to see you.''

''Speak freely, my friend.''

He seemed hesitant:

''I've come to see you about Sansa Stark.'

Daenerys' interest grew tenfold by a hundred. Had proof of the girl's betrayal been somehow discovered?

''You must beware of her.''

''Do you think so?''

''I'm not sure, I have no proof. But it's clear that she doesn't like you, or at least she doesn't like us here in Winterfell.''

He paused, sighed, as if he was about to make a particularly unpleasant confession :

''When Ser Jaime Lannister left Dragonpit, after Brienne of Tarth had asked him to go and talk to Cersei, he made it clear that she would not change her mind about her decision regarding the White Walkers and the Great War. Similarly, Tyrion said that this was our only chance to obtain an armistice with her. He too, however, tried to go and talk to her, and he too was turned down. But not Sansa Stark; she spoke to Cersei, and somehow managed to convince her not only to make peace with us temporarily, but also to support us, and to lend us a helping hand by sending us her armies. I find this slightly suspicious.''

Daenerys saw perfectly what he was trying to make her understand.

Since they had left King's Landing, she had been looking for the slightest proof that Sansa had betrayed her in any way. She had found nothing, of course. If the young woman had indeed duped her, she had hidden her game very well. But if even Ser Jorah suspected her of having had a dubious interaction with Cersei, there must have been something fishy going on.

For a brief moment, Daenerys even wondered if Tyrion might be in on it.

But she soon put the thought out of her mind. Tyrion hated his sister, and he was smart enough to realize that Cersei was going to lose, that she couldn't face two dragons. He had said it himself: they had the most powerful army the world had ever known. He had no interest in betraying her to Cersei.

''What do you think I should do about her? Should I interrogate her publicly?''

The knight shook his head.

''No, that's not a good idea. As you may have noticed, the Northerners have more fear and mistrust than love for you. Sort of sue their Lady, and you will lose all their support, what little they show you. The people of Westeros already fear you enough as it is, because of the rumors that Cersei is spreading about you. There is no need to alienate them any further. If I may make a suggestion, you should talk privately to Sansa Stark to get to the bottom of this and make sure she hasn't promised Cersei anything.''

Daenerys nodded.

''Will that be all?''

''Yes, Khaleesi.''

* * *

Sansa was sitting in a room by a fireplace with Yohn Royce, the leader of the Knights of the Vale, when Daenerys entered the room alone.

The Mother of Dragons gave her a smile that was meant to hide the storm raging inside her. She was now convinced of this. Sansa had betrayed her. All she needed was the evidence to support her conviction. But she decided not to let anything show through. She asked in a soft voice:

''Lady Sansa, I'd like to talk to you, but alone...''

After a moment of silent hesitation, Sansa nodded to the knight, who bowed to her and left the room, leaving her alone with Daenerys.

Sansa felt uncomfortable. She knew perfectly well that the smile on Daenerys' lips was fake, she felt it, and that could only mean one thing: she knew. She knew, or at least she suspected her of something.

For a moment, Sansa was afraid that her discomfort would be visible on her face, and that fear was confirmed when Daenerys, inviting her to sit down, before taking a chair next to her, threw it at her:

''I thought we shared the same point of view... about Cersei Lannister. After all, her family practically massacred yours...''

Sansa looked her in the eyes.

''I feel no love or admiration for Cersei.''

She feared the lie was too obvious. She was a bad liar, Cersei had told her many times when she was in King's Landing.

Daenerys smiled at her again.

''That's not at all what I was implying. But you still seem to regard her as the rightful queen, as evidenced by your intervention during the meeting of my Small Council in Dragonstone.''

Sansa remained indifferent to these insinuations.

''I just pointed out that, for the time being, she is the one sitting on the Iron Throne and in command of the Kingdom of the Seven Kingdoms. With all due respect, this is not a proof of my support for her, but a simple observation. As illegitimate as you claim her to be, for the time being, she is the Queen.''

''That, and the fact that you went to see her in the Red Keep, out of sight, to beg for her help. And you succeeded brilliantly, don't doubt it for a second.''

Daenerys continued to smile.

''Even though Ser Jaime said that he himself could not convince her, you did it. I'd love to know what you said to persuade her. Unless, of course, you don't want to tell me, but in that case, I suppose you won't mind if I consider it proof of your conspiracy with Cersei.''

Sansa's blood was just circling, and she felt as if her heart was going to explode in her chest, so hard was it beating:

''I simply appealed to her logic. You can't deny that Cersei is smart. There was only a need to use the right words, which luckily I managed to do. I just told her that if the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead came out victorious from the Long Night, it was sure she would lose. Even if she has little chance of winning against you. After all, as Lord Tyrion so aptly pointed out, you have the greatest army the world has ever known.''

She paused, then resumed, looking Daenerys in the eye:

''I beg you to take my word for it that no one in the world wants to see Cersei Lannister's head on a spike more than I do.''

Daenerys shook her hand lovingly:

''It's something we have in common. But we have a lot more. We know what it's like to train people who are not very inclined to accept a woman to lead them. And you and I have done more than well so far. Having said that, I'm sure there's something you're not happy about. What is it? Jon, maybe?''

Sansa wasn't sure what to say. Yes, it was true that she hadn't been thrilled to see her brother fall for the Queen of Dragons, but what had really made her angry was that he had submitted the North to her without asking her beforehand.

''He loves you, and you know it.''

"He loves you, and you know it.

''Does that make you unhappy?''

Sansa frowned.

''Men do stupid things for women. It is easy to manipulate them.''

Daenerys frowned in turn, and the smile disappeared from her lips.

'''All my life, I've pursued one goal: the Iron Throne. And its crown usurped by the same house that wiped out my family. My war was directed against them. Until I met Jon. And here I am now, here on the other side of the world, fighting Jon's war with him. Tell me, who do you think is manipulating who right now?''

Sansa thought that if she gave Daenerys the impression that she was acknowledging that she was the one at fault, maybe she would leave her alone.

''I should have thanked you. From the first day you arrived. I made a mistake.''

The Mother of Dragons' new, falsely pleasant smile.

''I came because I'm in love with Jon. I trust him. I know he has only one word. He's the second man in my life that I can say that.''

Sansa looked at her with curiosity.

"Who was the first?''

"A taller man.''

They both puffed. But Sansa soon took her seriously, to ask the question that would reveal whether she had been right to plot with Cersei.

''What's going to happen when it's over? When the White Walkers are defeated and Cersei has been killed? What happens then?''

Daenerys continued to smile at her, but Sansa found it so hypocritical that she had only one desire, to rip it from her face.

''I will ascend the Iron Throne.''

''Yes, what about the North? It was stolen from us. We took it back. Since then, we swore not to bow to any suzerain. What will become of the North?''

The smile died, for good this time.

Daenerys plunged her eyes into hers, amethysts against sapphires, and Sansa saw exactly the same glow there as in the map room at Dragonstone.

The queen of the dragons let go of her hand.

Sansa had confirmation that she had made the right choice. Daenerys wanted to reign over everything, everywhere. With Cersei, she might have a chance to gain independence in the North.

But to do so, she had to be vigilant.

Daenerys had to know absolutely nothing, at any price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a little review, it's always a great pleasure ^^ 
> 
> I'm creating a French/English Discord server for authors and readers of Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire fanfictions.  
> Authors will be able to showcase their fics, readers will be able to share their readings and make recommendations of fics to read. Of course, it can also be a place for exchange between authors and readers, and where authors can be helped if needed, beta's where they can get their texts translated, and readers can place fanfiction "orders".  
> Don't hesitate to let me know if you are interested.  
> The link should arrive very soon ^^


	6. Chapter 5 : Heir to the Throne

Night had fallen on Winterfell when Sam found Bran outside, his eyes lost in the void, as usual.

"What are you doing outside?

Bran, drawn out of his trance by Sam's voice, looked at him. His crow, perched on the back of his wheelchair, croaked.

"I'm waiting for an old friend...''

He continued to stare at Sam insistently:

"It's time to tell Jon the truth.''

Sam shook his head.

"No... No... You're his brother... Isn't it your job to tell him?''

''I'm not his brother. You're the only one he really trusts. It's time he learned that...''

* * *

Jon was in the crypts, lighting candles on the graves.

He turned toward the statue of his father. His dæmon, Ghost, yelped softly behind him.

Jon looked at him and scratched it between his ears. Suddenly he heard a thud, followed by a curse.

He would have recognized the voice out of a thousand:

"Sam ?''

The figure emerged from the shadows, and his old friend from the Night's Watch appeared before his eyes, preceded by his dæmon, a rabbit.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm not allowed to be here...''

Jon didn't care if his friend had to be there. He hugged him in a manly embrace, like a brother from whom he had been separated for too long.

''Were you trying to avoid me? What are you doing in Winterfell ? Have you really read all the books in the Citadel?''

He saw Sam turn livid. Had he said something wrong?

''What's wrong ? Gilly? Is something wrong?''

Sam managed to stutter:

"She's fine...''

"Little Sam?''

"Did you know about this?''

Jon didn't understand what his friend was getting at:

"About what ?''

"Daenerys... She had my brother and father executed... they were her prisoners. Didn't she tell you?''

Yes, he knew. Of course he knew. Daenerys told him, but he hadn't really thought about it since.

''I'm really sorry. It's time to end this war.''

"Would you have done that?''

It was a difficult question, even though, deep down inside, Jon already knew the answer. No, he wouldn't have done that. He would never have done that. If he had had the choice between killing a man or simply keeping him prisoner, he could not deny that he would have chosen the second option. Nevertheless, it was not for him to criticize Daenerys' choices.

''I have executed men who disobeyed me.''

Sam did not seem to be satisfied with that answer.

''You pardoned some of them, too. Hundreds of Wildlings who refused to kneel.''

''I was no king.''

It didn't make any difference. King or no king, we still had a choice. And Daenerys had made hers a long time ago, and it would never be the same as Jon's.

Burn them all!

''But yes, you were. You're a king and you always have been.''

''I've given up my crown, Sam. I bent my knee. I am no longer King in the North.''

Many seemed to refute this truth. Sam was only the latest in a long list of people, mostly Northerners, who had said this, in front of him and out of his reach, but who still echoed it.

Sam seemed to get a little upset, raised his voice, which was rare, knowing him.

''It's no longer a question of being the King of the North! It's about being King of the cursed Seven Kingdoms!''

Jon, who had turned his back on him to come out of the crypts, turned to him and looked at him intrigued.

Sam, looking sheepish, blew:

"Bran and I have understood it. I had the diary of the Great Septon, Bran had... what Bran always had.''

Jon frowned. Daenerys was their rightful queen. What the hell did he mean by that?

"What are you talking about?''

"Your mother was Lyanna Stark... And your father, your real father, was Rhaegar Targaryen. You were never a bastard. Your name is Aegon Targaryen, and you are the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.''

It was Jon Snow's turn to become livid.

"Forgive me, I-- I know it's a lot--''

The idea that his father, or rather, that the man who had pretended to be his father, according to Sam, had lied to him was unbearable for him, without his being able to find out why.

Perhaps because he had admired the man so much, perhaps because he had been a model for him, perhaps because he had always tried to be like him, he didn't want to believe it.

''My father was the noblest and most respectable person I ever knew. You mean he deceived me all my life?''

"Your father... Well, Ned Stark promised your mother he'd always protect you. And he did. Robert would have had you murdered if he'd known. You are the true king... you are Aegon Targaryen, the sixth of your name, Protector of the Realm and all that goes with it...''

It made sense though.It explained everything, absolutely everything, why his father never wanted to talk to him about his mother when he had asked so many questions about her when he was a child, but never answered them.

Sam was right. But Jon answered, almost automatically:

"Daenerys is our queen.''

"She shouldn't be.''

"It's a betrayal!''

As if to back up his words, Ghost barks.

"Jon, it's the truth... You gave up your crown to save your people... Would she have done the same?''

He looked Sam in the eyes. He knew the answer. Deep inside, he already knew the answer, but he couldn't, he had no right to let it pass the barrier of his lips.

Of course not, Daenerys wouldn't have done it. She was far too attached to the kingdom, to what was rightfully hers, in her opinion, to ever think of doing such a thing. It was her vocation, the one goal she had pursued all her life. He had seen it for himself when, after their union, she lay under the furs of the bed with him, and spoke to him of conquest and kingdom, dragons and throne, fire and blood, a disturbing gleam trembling in her amethyst eyes.

But it was much easier not to answer than to admit the truth. And even though Jon Snow had never been a man to take the easy way out, that's what he did when he turned around and walked away.

But perhaps it was also because he feared what Daenerys would be able to do, how far she would be able to go, if she discovered that a new opponent was standing in her way in her race for the Iron Throne and power. And he certainly didn't want to know about it.

* * *

Jon was in the Winterfell courtyard, Ghost at his side, giving directions to the lords and commoners who continued to flock through the large gates, open, when Daenerys found him.

She wanted to know if he, too, had noticed anything strange about Sansa.

After all, she was his sister. He must have known her better than anyone else. And if she looked like she had done something fishy, he should notice.

Daenerys took him aside, and, when they were safe from prying ears, declared him off the record, without even trying to conceal the real purpose of the conversation :

''Did you notice anything different about Sansa?''

Jon, caught off guard by this question, had no choice but to answer:

''No, not really. Why ?''

''She doesn't talk to you very much, from what I've seen.''

Jon sighed. He knew that Sansa had been particularly angry with him for bending her knee before Daenerys without asking his opinion, and even more so for behaving as he had done at the talks in King's Landing, but he hoped it wouldn't last when she finally met the Mother of Dragons.

Unfortunately, he had made a big mistake, and Sansa had shown no sign that she appreciated the presence of Daenerys, quite the contrary.

''She is angry with me for having submitted the North to you without first consulting with her. I think she would have preferred to have known you before making a decision.''

''Your sister doesn't love me.''

It wasn't a question this time. Just a statement, an observation, an undeniable fact.

No, Sansa didn't love Daenerys. She hadn't hidden it, and had ostensibly shown, through her coldness, that Daenerys was not welcome under her roof, contrary to what she had told her when they returned from Dragonstone.

''She doesn't know you yet.''

He sighed, before continuing:

''If it makes you feel any better, she didn't like me when we were young, either.''

He met Daenerys' gaze, with that kind of glow he didn't like.

Her voice was icy when she replied:

''There's no point in us becoming friends, but I am still her queen.''

Then, the voice was dangerously low:

''If she doesn't respect me, or if I find out in any way that she's made any kind of deal with Cersei, she'll suffer the fate of all traitors.''

Jon frowned:

''Sansa has not made any agreement with Cersei.''

''And how could you know that? They were alone in the Red Keep, and your sister still managed to persuade her to help us. That she convinced her without promising anything in return would surprise me greatly.''

Jon shook his head. He couldn't believe Daenerys' insinuations.

"Sansa is my sister.''

Well, no, not exactly, but Jon chose to carefully avoid this point for the time being, feeling that this was a particularly bad time for revelations about his own identity.

He continued:

''She wouldn't betray us like that. She hates Cersei. She wants her dead almost as much as you do, if not more.''

Daenerys found nothing more to say, and, without a word, walked away.

Jon set out to find Sansa. He wanted to reveal the truth to her, and to Arya and Bran, before anyone else.

* * *

When Jon arrived in the godswood, Sansa was there, in front of the huge barral.

She was not alone. Bran and Arya were with her.

It was Arya who first saw him, his dæmon, in wolf form, coming to sniff out Ghost.

''Jon, we need to talk.''

She exchanged a hesitant look with Sansa, who took over, and said:

''We don't think it's a good idea to pledge allegiance to Daenerys...''

Jon contemplated Sansa, Arya, and Bran, who had, until then, remained perfectly silent.

So Daenerys was right. Sansa really didn't like her, and what's more, Arya and Bran seemed to agree with her.

Were they really unable to see the true nature of Daenerys, the one Jon saw? Because that was his true nature, wasn't it? Wasn't it?

He got upset:

''We wouldn't have any hope of winning the battle against the dead if it wasn't here! We would simply wait to become White Walkers and then head for King's Landing! Her men will give their lives to defend Winterfell!''

Sansa remained stoic, with Seldan standing by her side, but what her brother had just said was clearly not enough to change her mind.

''And we will never forget it. But that doesn't mean we have to bend the knee...''.

Jon said in an emphatic tone:

''I have given my support, and the support of the North, to her cause.''

Arya intervened:

"I respect that.''

Sansa turned to her sister in indignation:

''You respect that?!''

''We need her. We need her army. Her dragons.''

Then, addressing Jon:

''You did what you had to do. And we are doing what we have to do by telling you that we don't trust her at all.'

Jon shook his head:

''You don't know her at all.''

''We always will. She's not one of us.''

Jon stared at her:

"If you only trust those who have grown up with you, you will never have many allies.''

Arya frowned, and said, most seriously:

''That's right. I don't need many allies.''

Jon sighed:

"Arya...''

She cut it off:

''We're a family. All four of us. The last of the Starks.''

"I was never a Stark.''

Arya walked up to him, took him by the shoulders:

''You're my brother. Not my half-brother, not my bastard brother. You're my brother.''

Jon looked at Bran, whose voice was heard for the first time since the discussion began:

"It's your decision.''

Arya and Sansa automatically turned their heads towards him, as if to make sure he was the one who had just spoken.

Jon looked down:

''There's something I have to tell you, but you have to swear not to tell anyone. ''

"'What is it?'

''Swear first, and then I'll tell you.''

Sansa squinted:

''How can you promise to keep a secret if you don't know what it is?''

"Because we're family.''

Arya answered almost immediately:

''I swear to you.''

Jon could read the hesitation in Sansa's eyes, who hadn't said anything yet, and finally promised, as if reluctantly.

"I swear it.''

Jon challenged Bran:

"Tell them.''

Everyone was looking at Bran now, waiting for him to reveal this famous secret:

"Jon was never our brother. He's a Targaryen.''

Sansa and Arya turned to Jon in disbelief:

"But how...''

''No, that's impossible...''

''He is the son of Lyanna Stark, and Rhaegar Targaryen.''

A flash of incipient understanding passed through Sansa's eyes:

''But then it means that you are the rightful heir to the Iron Throne... You are before Daenerys in the order of succession.''

''Maybe, but I don't want the throne.''

Sansa approached Jon, and took his face in her hands:

''You'd make a much better king than her, you know that. It is no longer a question of wanting. It is your duty. The Iron Throne is rightfully yours.''

Jon shook his head.

"Daenerys is our queen. The throne is hers. I bent my knee. When she wins, the Seven Kingdoms will be hers.''

Sansa felt herself boiling.

She hadn't been a partisan of the idea of Daenerys ascending to the throne, but if Jon turned out to be the rightful heir, there was no way she would let that happen.

She hadn't bent her knee. Daenerys was not her queen, and never would be.

* * *

The room where the map of Westeros in Winterfell was located was much smaller and darker than the one of Dragonstone.

So when Jon, Daenerys, Sansa, Tyrion, Jorah, Varys, Missandei, Grey Worm, Arya, Bran, Davos and Brienne gathered there, they were cramped.

The White Walkers were getting closer. Every day, the threat they embodied became more and more real, less and less distant.

And even though the Lannister armies were still not at Winterfell, it became urgent to start planning the defense of the castle when it came under attack.

It was Tyrion who initiated the council of war:

"How many men do we have ?''

Jon was the first to answer on behalf of the Stark:

"Eight thousand Northmen, two thousand Knights of the Vale for us.''

Jorah counted the Targaryen forces:

"About eight thousand Unsullied and two thousand Dothraki.''

Sansa added:

"And fifteen thousand Lannister soldiers.''

Daenerys glanced at her with a black look:

''If they come one day. For the moment, this looks more like a lie by Cersei that you, Sansa, and you Tyrion would have naively believed, which would be a most serious mistake.''

Varys added, before either Sansa or Tyrion had time to explain or reply:

''And, bad news, according to my informants, the Golden Company has just arrived in King's Landing, thanks to Euron Greyjoy's fleet. The balance is beginning to tip, alas, in their favor. Even if Cersei has indeed sent us her armies, she will have fresh troops when we want to attack, while ours will be weakened by the war against the dead. For now, Cersei has just taken the advantage over us, militarily at least. And there is no doubt that she may soon take it strategically. I am very much afraid that she has not listened to Tywin Lannister all her life without learning anything. For the moment, we are the losers.''

Missandei wondered:

''When the people of King's Landing see what we've done... we'll save them...''

Varys frowned:

''Yes, but the problem is, if the Lannister armies arrive, Cersei will have helped save them, too, and largely.''

Daenerys declared, looking perfectly sure of himself:

''We're going to strangle her. Cut the plant down, pull out the roots.''

Tyrion remarked to him:

''Our objective is to bring down Cersei, but without destroying King's Landing.''

Varys tried to lighten the atmosphere a little, which had become heavy:

''Fortunately, if it turns out she lied, which we think is likely, she'll lose allies.''

It was on him that Daenerys cast his murderous gaze:

''No matter how many lords turn against her.As long as she sits on the Iron Throne, she is still the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and the Protector of the Realm."

Sansa whistled:

''Yes, and that's not about to change.''

Daenerys' amethyst eyes came to rest on her, and, with a dangerously low voice, she asked:

''May I know what you mean by that, Lady Sansa?''

Sansa held her gaze:

''Let's be realistic. You want to attack King's Landing as soon as possible, and throw not only our men, but also yours, into the fray, when they will not be ready to fight, because they will not have rested after the battle against the White Walkers. And, Cersei will win either way. If she doesn't send her army to us, she may lose the support of the Lords of Westeros, but she will have thirty-five thousand men to defend the capital, and it's not her who will be crushed, it's us. If she sends them to us, she will reaffirm her position as Protector of the Realm, because she will have effectively protected the Seven Kingdoms, and the people will necessarily be aware of what she has done''.

''What do you think should be done?''

''Men will be exhausted. Many of them will be wounded. They will fight better if they have a little time to recover.''

''And how much time?'' ''I can't say precisely, but the officers must be consulted first.'' Daenerys frowned, and, going around the table, came and stood in front of Sansa: ''I've agreed to come North to fight at your side. It will cost me and my army. And while there is talk of when the time comes to return the favor, you are looking for ways to repel it.''

Tyrion intervened:

"I've seen the city's rabble revolt against its king when they were hungry, even before winter began. Create the same conditions and they will overthrow Cersei.''

Jon then proposed:

''Let's besiege the city. If the Ironborn fleet tries to supply, we will destroy it with the dragons in the harbor.''

Tyrion continued:

"Once the people see that Cersei is our one and only enemy, her reign will end.''

But Daenerys didn't hear it that way:

''The more I leave my enemies alone, the more of a threat they will be.''

She glanced blackly at Tyrion, who suddenly had only one wish, that the earth would open under her feet and swallow her, before looking at Sansa again:

''And all this because of you, Lady Sansa.''

Seeing that the girl was still forbidden, she continued:

''It is you who blindly believed Cersei, it is you who were fooled. She lied to you, and you took her words at face value.''

Tyrion defended her:

''Sansa had nothing to do with it, Your Grace. We were all taken advantage of by Cersei. When she came back to Dragonpit to tell us that she had changed her mind, there was not a single person to question her word, when she had nothing to lose and everything to gain by taking advantage of our situation. We are all responsible for what is happening.''

Daenerys focused her attention on her Hand:

''Indeed. You're right. We are all responsible. And you are the first.''

This remark struck Tyrion like a slap in the face.

''You were supposed to be the one who knew your sister best, of all the people who went to Dragonpit. She openly refused in front of you, but you didn't ask yourself a single question when she accepted without the slightest problem with Sansa.''

She looked at him, and, with fury visible in her bloom, said to him:

''And to think that I took you for the most intelligent of men...''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a little review, it's always a great pleasure ^^ 
> 
> As I mentioned before, here is the link to the Discord server: https://discord.gg/q2Ajfr8b  
> The more we will be, the more fun it will be! (we do not eat anybody, promised) ^^


	7. Chapter 6 : A Man of Honor

''We will kill all your enemies as soon as you command us, Your Grace.''

All heads turned to Grey Worm, who until then had remained silent.

Jon, for his part, tried to calm the game, declaring, in a tone that called for no negotiation:

''The forces of the North will honor their promise and their allegiance to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Command, Your Grace, and you will be obeyed.''

Daenerys seemed satisfied with this assurance, and, without adding anything further, turned and left the room, followed by Missandei and Grey Worm.

Sansa gave Jon one last black look for supporting Daenerys rather than her, his lover rather than his sister, and did the same.

But just when she thought she was alone with Seldan in the hallway, she felt something, someone pulling her by the arm.

She saw by the glow of the torches that lit up the corridors that it was Tyrion, accompanied by Stelsa.

When he had looked from all sides, to make sure there was no one within earshot, he said to her in a soft voice:

''I wanted to apologize for what Queen Daenerys said earlier. It was unfair to accuse you. You're certainly not the first or the last to have been deceived by Cersei.''

Sansa asked her:

''Are you sure there's no one there?''

''You can never be sure. Don't they say that walls have ears?''

Without waiting for him to continue, it was Sansa's turn to grab him by the arm and carry him with her to her apartments.

When she was sure that they were indeed alone, they and their dæmons, she closed the door and blew in Tyrion:

''I wasn't deceived by Cersei. She will send her armies, they will come, I am sure.''

Tyrion looked her in the eye, skeptical:

''Forgive me for doubting, My Lady, and believe me, it is Cersei I do not trust, not you. How can you be sure?''

Sansa sighed. She knew that she and Cersei had agreed not to reveal anything of their deal, but Cersei must certainly have done so with Jaime, to justify her change of decision, and Sansa had complete confidence in Tyrion, even though he served Daenerys.

''If you want me to tell you, you must swear not to tell anyone, under any circumstances.''

Tyrion frowned. The conversation was taking a strange turn, and he wondered what Sansa was hiding that was so important.

''I promise you.''

''Not a word to Varys or Jon, and certainly not to Daenerys.''

Tyrion nodded.

Sansa took a deep breath:

''I have made an alliance with Cersei.''

Tyrion's eyes widened in shock, and he almost cried out:

"What have you done?!''

Sansa told him to be quiet:

" Shhh! No one must know, no one.''

''Excuse me, excuse me. What did you promise her in exchange for her armies?''

Sansa looked at her feet, unable to bring herself to look into Tyrion's eyes as she confessed everything to him:

''I promised Cersei that I would not help Daenerys win the throne.''

''Sansa, it's a betrayal... Jon has bent his knee to Daenerys.''

Sansa felt a ball forming in her throat:

''I know that...''

''Why did you do this?''

''Sansa, it's a betrayal... Jon has bent his knee to Daenerys.''

Sansa felt a ball forming in his throat:

''I know that...''

''Why did you do this?''

Without really knowing why, tears came to her eyes, but she managed to hold them back:

''We needed Cersei's help...''

She hesitated before continuing. She didn't know if she had done the right thing by telling Tyrion. What if he was going to tell Daenerys everything?

''And I don't think Daenerys will be a good queen.''

Tyrion sighed:

''You know she loves your brother. And good relations between the Iron Throne and the North have always been at the heart of all the peaceful and prosperous reigns that history has known.''

Sansa laughed happily, before declaring in an ironic tone:

''Jon will be the next Governor of the North. This will only improve the quality of relations.''

''I don't think Jon will spend much time around here if we win.''

''I don't know, it's up to him. ''

Tyrion looked at her intensely:

''With Jon in the capital, you'll be the one with the power in the North. I would be more confident in the future if I left after the Long Night convinced that you and Daenerys are allies. For the time being, you are guilty of treason. If Daenerys finds out, she will want you executed. Jon may be able to stop her at first, but if she ends up on the Iron Throne, she will have every right to order your execution.''

"That will not happen.''

''What?''

''Daenerys will not win. Varys said it himself, during the council. Cersei has all the assets in hand. And Daenerys doesn't want to listen to what she is told. She wants to attack King's Landing right after the dead have been defeated. She wants to gut Cersei, but Cersei will crush her if she continues to do as she pleases.''

''Daenerys has two dragons.''

''And Cersei has between twenty and thirty-five thousand men, not including the Iron Fleet.''

''Whatever you think of her, Daenerys will be better than Cersei. Her people worship her. You may not have seen it yet, but I have seen the way he fights for her. She wants this world to live in harmony. You don't have to be friends. Why provoke her? How does it serve the interests of your family, the interests of the North?''

"You are afraid of her.''

That was not a question. And yet, she raised thousands of questions in the mind of Tyrion.

Was he afraid of Daenerys?

Before, he would have answered no, of course not.

How could he have been afraid of the one who wanted to free the world from tyranny, the one who wanted to stop, no, break the wheel?

How could he have been afraid of Mhysa, the Breaker of Chains?

How could he have been afraid of the one who wanted to avoid violence, of the one who wanted to make the world a better place, as he had said to Cersei?

But it was no longer Mhysa, whom he was advising.

It was Daenerys Targaryen.

He had seen how long it took her to admit that they had not come to destroy King's Landing.

_Fire and Blood._

_Burn them all!_

All he found to answer Sansa was:

"A king must always inspire a minimum of fear.''

Sansa wasted no time in responding:

''Cersei too, inspires fear. Yet you don't seem to think she is a good monarch.''

She was right. And yet Tyrion could not bring himself to accept it.

''Cersei seized power in a coup. Daenerys is the rightful heiress to the Iron Throne.''

''What if she's not the only one?''

Tyrion, who had begun to move away from the room, turned to look at her, intrigued by what he had just heard:

''What did you say?''

Sansa bit her lip. She knew that she had promised Jon not to say anything, but she had promised herself beforehand that she would do everything she could to keep Daenerys from the cursed Iron Throne:

''Daenerys is not the rightful heiress to the Seven Kingdoms. It is Jon, who is.''

Tyrion frowned:

"No, that can't be true.''

"Yes, it is. Jon is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. He is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Daenerys is only the second to claim this title.''

Tyrion knew that this information was not meant to evoke any positive emotions, yet he could not help but feel immense relief.

But reason soon regained the upper hand. If Daenerys found out, he didn't know how she would react.

She loved Jon: he had even told Sansa.

She loved Jon: but if she learned that he would potentially stand against her on the way to the Iron Throne, he didn't know what she would do to him.

* * *

When Tyrion left the room, Sansa sighed deeply.

She had confessed to him not one thing she should never have told anyone, but two.

She was really hoping that Tyrion wouldn't tell Daenerys everything.

If he did, he would sign her death warrant.

Feeling shaky, she sat down on the bed.

Seldan used to jump beside her to comfort her when she was a child.

But when the mighty lion he had become landed, the bed creaked under his weight, so much so that Sansa was afraid it would break.

He rubbed against her.

''I'm sure Cersei will help us.''

She slipped her hand into his coat:

''I don't doubt it. I just hope Daenerys doesn't find out.''

''But no. Tyrion won't say anything. He won't put us in danger on purpose.''

''Yes, but if he doesn't talk to Daenerys, he'll be guilty of treason too. And if Daenerys finds out what we have done, she will burn us alive, just like she did with Samwell Tarly's father and brother. We conspired behind her back. She won't let it get away.''

''Don't worry, we'll be all right. We'll reach King's Landing as soon as the Long Night is over. Maybe Cersei will agree to let us into the city and allow us to stay in the Red Keep.''

''I don't know, Seldan. I don't know...''

* * *

Tyrion sighed as he swirled his wine in his glass.

''Think of the last twenty years... Wars, murders, all that misery... All because Robert Baratheon loved a woman who didn't love him...''

Varys turned his head towards him:

"How many people know about this?''

''Including us? Seven, I think...''

''So it's no longer a secret. It is information.''

He paused.

''And if there are seven people who know about it, hundreds will soon find out. And what's going to happen?''

''She'll lose the North, she'll lose the Vale... Sansa will see to it. She may even lose the Westerlands if she kills Cersei...''

''It's much worse than that. He is more legitimate than her on the throne.''

Tyrion shook his head, refusing to face reality.

Varys continued:

''The fact is that most of them are conquered by him. Wildlings, Northerners... He is a war hero...''

Tyrion took a long shave from his glass:

''He loves our queen. And our queen loves him. If we marry them, they can both rule.''

''Except she's his aunt.''

"The Targaryens don't have that kind of modesty.''

Tyrion couldn't count the number of times he'd heard Cersei and Jaime say it.

The Targaryens married between brothers and sisters for three centuries...

''No. But Jon grew up in Winterfell. I doubt very much that marrying his aunt is very common in the North. And Daenerys is too strong for him. He'd do as she wishes, as he's done before.''

Varys sighed:

''You know our queen better than I do. Do you think she would share the throne?''

The question was rhetorical, and Tyrion didn't even bother to answer it.

"She doesn't like to see her authority challenged.''

Tyrion had a small, joyless laugh.

''Something that is quite common among monarchs in general.''

''Her state of mind worries me. I've served tyrants most of my life. All of them spoke of their fate.''

Tyrion took another sip of wine, before retorting:

"Here's a woman who went through a fire with three stones and came out with three dragons. How could she not believe in her destiny?''

"Maybe that's the problem. She was always convinced that she was sent for our salvation.''

Tyrion could still vividly remember the hours talking about liberated peoples and the broken wheel, but he still wouldn't believe it.

"How do you know it isn't?''

Varys didn't answer.

''And now this problem with Jon Snow. Maybe that's where the solution lies.''

Seeing that Tyrion wasn't saying anything, he continued:

''You know them both. Tell me, which one is best suited to govern the Seven Kingdoms?''

Tyrion shook his head again:

"He doesn't want the throne. That's why he bent his knee.''

"Don't you think that sometimes the best king is the person who doesn't want the throne?''

Tyrion thought back to what had happened nearly thirty years earlier, to that Northerner who had refused the throne, who had preferred to leave it to his best friend, even though he would have made a much better king than he was, and who had paid for it with his life nearly twenty years later.

When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die.

''This discussion smells of betrayal.''

Varys looked him in the eye:

''Don't pretend you haven't thought about it.''

''Of course, I have thought about it. Thinking is not betrayal.''

''He is moderate, and measured. And he is a man, therefore more credible to the Lords of Westeros, whose support we need.''

''Joffrey was a man. I don't think a cock is a guarantee. I'm sure you agree.''

''He is the direct heir to the Iron Throne, and that's because he's a male. A cock counts, I'm afraid.''

''And my first proposal? He could contain her most harmful impulses...''

''As you did, if you did...''

Tyrion does not react to the spike. He was content to take a sip of wine, then another sip, then another sip, and another sip...

''You drink too much.''

Varys sighed:

"A Targaryen for father, a Stark for mother. Jon is at present the only person who can keep the North within the Seven Kingdoms.''

Tyrion changed the subject, hoping to hurt Varys as much as he had hurt him by pointing at the truth, the horrible truth:

" How many kings and queens have you served? Five? Six? I'm a little confused...''

''You know my reasons.''

The tone was beginning to rise.

''At a certain point, you choose the person you believe in, and you fight for that person.''

''Even though you know she's making a mistake?''

Tyrion looked him in the eye.

Of course Daenerys was making a mistake.

They couldn't let her put King's Landing to fire and brim, he knew that.

He knew it, but he wouldn't admit it.

Trying to appear confident, he said:

''I believe in our Queen. She will make the right choice. Helped in this by her most loyal advisers.''

Varys stood up:

''You know where my loyalty ends. You know I will never betray the kingdom.''

"But what is the kingdom?! A vast continent, populated by millions of people, most of whom don't care who's on the Iron Throne.''

''Millions, many of whom will die, if the wrong person sits on this Iron Throne. Anonymous people who do exist, just like you and me. They deserve to live. They deserve to be able to feed their offspring. And I'm going to act in their best interest, no matter what it costs me.''

"What will happen to her?''

From the look on his friend's face, Tyrion immediately understood what he meant.

"Please... No...''

He didn't lie when he said he loved Daenerys. She would never love him back, not the way she loved Jon Snow, but it didn't matter. He loved her anyway. And he couldn't, wouldn't let that happen.

But Varys was right, of course.

''I spoke to you in the most honest way. We have to make a choice, you and I. I pray that yours will be a wise one.''

He turned his heels.

Tyrion emptied his cup.

''With any luck, Cersei will win, and kill us all. That will solve all our problems.''

Varys turned one last time to look at him.

''Perhaps.''

And he left the room, followed by his daemon.

* * *

The Great Hall of Winterfell was already crowded when Tyrion entered with Stelsa for dinner.

He still managed to make his way to the table set up in front of the fireplace, where a huge fire was humming.

And he didn't miss the murderous look in Daenerys' eyes when he took his place on her right.

Nevertheless, she remained silent for long minutes.

It was only when he stopped paying attention to her that she started to throw :

''The White Walkers and the army of the dead are getting closer and closer, and yet your sister's armies have still not arrived.''

Tyrion bit his lip, and grabbed the nearest carafe of wine and used a more than reasonable amount.

There was no point in disputing, in saying to wait, that Casterly Rock and King's Landing were far from the North, that traveling with such an army took time, a lot of time.

Everything led one to believe that Cersei had lied to them, and had never had the slightest intention of helping them.

They had only deluded themselves, Sansa, him, everyone.

Tyrion felt totally despondent.

He had counted on Cersei to show a little good will to convince Daenerys to spare her, Jaime, and their baby.

Clearly, it was something that had to be put to rest.

Cersei didn't know this, but she had most likely just pronounced her execution, Jaime's and their son's or daughter's.

Daenerys, inside, was jubilant.

Deep down, she had hoped, so much hoped, that this would be what would happen.

The people would never want a Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, a Protector of the Realm, who didn't give a damn about the threat of the White Walkers, the threat of death, the threat of eternal winter when all they were waiting for was the renewal of spring.

Daenerys, who will have fought, Daenerys who will have saved all Westeros, will have much more legitimacy to sit on the Iron Throne.

And Tyrion's discontented mine confirmed that she was right.

After a long silence, he simply replied:

"Indeed.''

''I thought she had promised us her help.''

Tyrion sighed:

''Westeros, and King's Landing in particular, is full of liars. Good liars, bad liars, and some excellent liars. It would seem that Cersei falls into the latter category, given the way she has managed to fool us all.''

''I knew the Lannisters couldn't be trusted.''

That's the way it was, that's the way it had always been.

Lions are liars. Lions are traitors.

The example set by the Mad King when he opened the gates of the city on the day of the capture of King's Landing was not enough.

''I thought I knew my sister. But I was mistaken, I admit it.''

''One more mistake to add to your long list.''

Tyrion turned his head towards Daenerys, waiting for her to continue.

''It's not the first time you've been wrong on such a serious matter, and it certainly won't be the last.''

Her eyes rested on the hand-shaped badge on Tyrion's chest.

''One mistake, one more mistake, and I'll see that the wearer of this pin is worthy of it.''

Tyrion nodded, adding nothing more.

Daenerys, with her mouth already open, was about to say something else, when she was cut off in full swing by one of the heavy doors of the hall, which opened on the fly.

There was silence in the room.

A breathless squire entered, followed by his dæmon-dog.

But he had no time to announce what was bringing him in, something very urgent, apparently, that he stepped aside and the second door opened, revealing a group of about twenty men.

As they stepped forward into the light of the torches, all could see their red and gold armor and scarlet coats.

Their commander even had a golden hand.

The people began to murmur in the hall until the leader of the group spoke and silence returned:

''We are here in the name of Cersei, of the House Lannister, the first of her name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a little review, it's always a great pleasure ^^


	8. Chapter 7 : Truth

Tyrion could not have explained the intense sense of relief that overcomes him when he sees his brother in the doorway frame of the Great Hall at Winterfell, followed by the generals of the Lannister armies, Sercilia, his dæmon, at his side.

Jaime looked tired, exhausted. A shaggy beard, which he had not bothered to shave, now covered half of his face, which, combined with his graying hair, easily made him ten to twenty years older.

Cersei had kept her word. Cersei had sent her armies to them.

He didn't miss Daenerys' disappointed look. She thought that if Cersei had betrayed her promise, she would have lost credibility. But the generals of her armies had just arrived.

Daenerys had therefore just lost potential support in her conquest of the Iron Throne.

Tyrion leaned over to look at Sansa, to the left of Jon.

She looked relieved, too, and he suspected that her expression was a reflection of his own.

But he was forced to look away from them when Daenerys, who had soon come to her senses, called:

"Ser Jaime Lannister?''

His brother stepped forward.

''You say you are here in the name of your sister, Cersei Lannister. But she is not here.''

Jaime felt himself becoming livid.

''No, indeed.''

''May I ask why?''

Approving murmurs began to be heard throughout the room.

He dreaded the question.

What could he answer?

They had thought about it at first. They had thought that it might be better for Cersei to accompany them north, to show that she was truly involved and that she cared about the security of her kingdom.

But her current state had quickly put an end to this idea. It was out of the question for Jaime to let Cersei make the long trip to Winterfell in the middle of winter when she was pregnant, even though she had insisted at first, not wanting to let him go alone.

It was absolutely out of the question for him to reveal that the reason for Cersei's absence was her pregnancy.

Daenerys was not to know that Cersei was pregnant.

Fortunately, Tyrion flew to his rescue:

''Your Grace, our sister has promised to send her armies to help us during the Long Night. She never promised to come to Winterfell herself.''

Daenerys looked at him with an evil eye, visibly unhappy that he was answering in his brother's place, while she was obviously trying to put him in trouble.

''All good war leaders accompany their armies wherever they go. I'm beginning to wonder if it might not rather be proof that you have come, training your sister's armies, but without her permission.''

At these words, Jaime smiles.

Cersei had felt the blow coming, and they had anticipated the problem.

He took out a scroll of parchment with a golden wax seal representing the Lannister lion and handed it to Sansa.

She took it, showed it to everyone in the room, and announced in a loud voice:

''The seal of Queen Cersei, intact.''

She unsealed the message, and read it aloud:

''I, the undersigned Cersei of the House of Lannister, Queen of the Andals and the First Men and Protector of the Realm, declare that I delegate to my brother Ser Jaime of the House of Lannister the command of all my armed forces to lead them north and fight in the war against the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead alongside the forces already there.''

Before even knowing if Sansa had finished reading the letter, Daenerys intervened:

''May I see this letter, Lady Sansa?''

Sansa gave her a black look, which Daenerys did not fail to notice, but handed her the paper.

It couldn't have been that simple. It shouldn't have been that simple.

It just seemed inconceivable that Cersei would commit her soldiers to this war so easily.

And yet, it was the pure truth.

When Daenerys had the piece of parchment unrolled before her eyes, she had to admit that Sansa had read exactly what was written.

The calligraphy was delicate, elegant and neat. The letter could only have been written by Cersei herself.

Unless...

''Lord Tyrion, can you examine this message and tell me if it is indeed your sister's handwriting?''

She took a look at Jaime, and then continued:

''It would be a pity, after all, to be deceived...''

Tyrion took the letter from Daenerys' hands and, unable to see where the trap was, looked down upon it.

''Yes, Your Grace, there is no doubt, this is Cersei's handwriting.''

''Well, well...''

But no. It wasn't well. Tyrion could see it in the eyes of Daenerys.

Fortunately, before the uneasiness of the general silence became too much of a burden, Sansa intervened and asked Jaime:

''How many men did you bring with you, Ser Jaime?''

He smiles politely at her:

"Fifteen thousand, my Lady.''

But Daenerys' cold voice called out to the knight again:

''And where are they? I don't see them anywhere.''

Jaime smiled at her, but it was no longer the kind smile he had reserved for Sansa.

This time it was an arrogant smile, which brought him back almost ten years earlier, when he stood ten years earlier in the same room, mocking Ned Stark while Cersei sat on the platform that had been set up for the royal family, a true sovereign, unlike Robert who, in the midst of the common people, was having fun groping the young girls serving and drinking his fill.

''Indeed. They will arrive at first light tomorrow morning, my Lady.''

Grey Worm, who had approached the Lannister soldiers, as if to examine them from every angle, came even closer to Jaime, and, almost face to face with him, whistled:

''Not "my Lady''. It is "Your Grace''."

But Jaime did not back down:

"No. No, not "Your Grace". I did not bend my knee before Daenerys of House Targaryen. I am like Jon Snow. I can't serve two queens.''

"Daenerys of House Targaryen is the true queen.''

''My true queen is at King's Landing. It is she who sent me, and it is she who sits on the Iron Throne, not Daenerys Targaryen. I have sworn loyalty to my sister. It is an oath that I do not intend to break.''

As Grey Worm was about to draw his spear, which he was holding in one hand, even if it meant starting a battle between the Lannister soldiers and the Immaculate, Sansa intervened, before everything got out of hand:

''We have concluded a truce with Cersei Lannister. This includes that we accept, for the time being at least, that she is the queen. Daenerys will be when she takes the Iron Throne, but that's not the case now. We need all the men present who are capable of fighting. We don't need to lose more than necessary for trifles.''

Grey Worm waited for long seconds, before finally reluctantly backing away, while Jaime's eyes remained fixed, a murderous look in his own, black eyes against green eyes.

His dæmon, a dog, who had approached Sercilia, began to show her teeth, but when the lioness began to do the same, and growl, she returned to Grey Worm.

Daenerys didn't like that at all.

The Lannisters may have been the current dynasty, but that was not going to last. She was going to make sure of that.

Lions were not superior to dragons. Nobody was.

* * *

If Daenerys thought that she could not be more irritated by the Lannisters than the night they arrived, she was wrong.

When Cersei's men arrived in Winterfell, she could not ignore the welcome they received from the Northerners.

Although the Lannisters had been enemies of the Starks all through the war, the wolves having fallen prey to the lions, the Northerners seemed more relieved, less afraid, to see them arrive than they had been when the Dothraki, the Unsullied, and the dragons had appeared before them.

When Daenerys pointed this out to Jon, he simply replied:

''The Northerners are wary of foreigners. The Lannisters may have been our enemies for a long time, they are still armies of Westeros, knights of the Seven Kingdoms."

He took a deep breath before continuing:

''To be perfectly frank, the Dothraki and the Unsullied don't have a very good reputation in Westeros. That's why the Northerners have been even more reserved. And it's not every day you get to see two dragons around here.''

That's not enough to convince Daenerys.She was persuaded that there was more.

The words of Ser Jorah came back to her mind, when she had spoken with him about Sansa.

_She spoke to Cersei, and somehow managed to convince her, not only to make peace with us temporarily, but also to support us, and to lend us a hand by sending her armies. I find this slightly suspicious._

And everything leads one to believe that he was right. Even though Sansa had told her otherwise.

_Please take my word for it when I tell you that no one in the world wants to see Cersei Lannister's head on a spike more than I do._

The young Stark had seemed unusually relieved to see Cersei's armies land, for someone who hated her at least as much as Daenerys herself, if not more.

* * *

As the days went by, the White Walkers got closer to Winterfell. The battle was now imminent.

The north wind was so icy that the air Jaime exhaled as he searched for someone outside formed clouds in front of him, a perfect representation of the warm breath of life against the freezing cold of the eternal winter that threatened all Westeros.

Winter has come, as the Starks had always promised.

But that obviously didn't stop the youngest of their survivors, Bran, from being outside in the sacred woods of Winterfell.

There he stood, motionless, his dæmon-corn faithfully perched on his shoulder in front of the huge barral with blood-red foliage.

Jaime sighed.

The last time he had seen the young boy with his back to him, he was just a kid.

Just a kid.

A kid who liked to climb walls and towers.

A kid who had just discovered a secret that could have brought war and chaos to the Seven Kingdoms.

He hadn't thought twice about pushing him out the window where he had seen him and Cersei in the middle of their lovemaking.

Cersei often reproached him for never thinking about the consequences before acting.

She wasn't entirely wrong. Indeed, it was not uncommon for him to be.

But not this time.

And all he could think about was what would happen if the boy talked about what he had caught.

The only thing he could think of was their heads, Cersei's heads, the children's heads, and his head at the end of a spike.

It wasn't so much the idea of his head adorning the gates of the capital that bothered him.

After all, as the people of Essos said, Valar Morghulis.

Yes, all men must die.

But there was absolutely no way he would let that happen to Cersei or their children.

He could not afford to let them die without doing anything.

So he did the only thing that would assure him that the Stark boy would not talk. The only thing that would assure him that Cersei, their children, and their secret were safe.

He had pushed her out the window.

The things I do for love.

But he certainly hadn't foreseen that the boy would come out of it alive.

He didn't plan to see him again one day, eight years later and two legs shorter for him.

He didn't plan to have to explain himself.

Jaime didn't know how to address the young man, who was still turning his back on him, to get his attention.

He didn't have to.

His dæmon had seen Sercilia, and began to croak.

Bran turned his head and saw the knight standing behind him.

Jaime, fully aware that his presence was no longer a secret, came and stood in front of him, and, without knowing how to start the conversation, said clearly:

''I'm sorry I pushed you off the tower.''

This was not true. He didn't regret it. He didn't regret it, and he would do it again if necessary. If he had to choose between Cersei and their baby's life and the life of any kid, his choice would be made quickly. Very quickly. Barely a fraction of a second, really.

Bran looked at him with his dark, yet strangely light eyes, almost as if they were empty, as if there was no soul behind them.

''It's a little late for regrets.''

Jaime looked at his feet, desperately trying to avoid the young man's terrifying, icy gaze.

After a long, awkward silence, he spoke again, and sighed:

''At that time, you were protecting your family. I would still be Brandon Stark if you hadn't pushed me off that tower.''

Curious, Jaime looked up:

"Aren't you anymore?''

Bran looked away, and answered evasively:

"No. I'm something else now.''

''Aren't you blaming me?''

"I don't blame anybody.''

A question burned on Jaime's lips, why, and he decided not to hold back:

''Why did you have shut up about what happened?''

Bran looked at him again, and said:

''If I had told everyone what you did, you would most likely have been executed. If that had happened, I'm not sure your armies would have responded well. And Cersei probably would have immediately sent the Golden Company to massacre us right here. I don't think your sister would have let your assassination pass without a hundredfold response'.'

Jaime swallows with thoughts of his sister. He missed her. He thought about her every day, how her belly must have rounded more sharply, more visibly. He had promised her he would come back, and he would, he knew he would, but he had the very unpleasant impression that part of him had stayed in King's Landing with her.

He looked at the young Stark again and asked:

"And what happens after?''

''What makes you think there will be an after?''

* * *

Jon was in the crypts of Winterfell, accompanied by Ghost, in front of the statue of his mother, when Daenerys found him.

He was lost in contemplation of his face roughly carved in rough stone.

Daenerys came quietly to his side and hugged him:

"Who is she?''

Jon remained silent for many seconds before answering:

"Lyanna Stark...''

Did he have to confess the truth to Daenerys?

But before he could make up his mind, she sighed:

''My brother Rhaegar... I've been told that he was known for his honesty and kindness. He loved to sing. He used to give alms to children... and he raped her.''

She almost seemed sad about it. No, not sad. Overwhelmed.

Was it possible that Daenerys had somehow already found out?

In any case, if there was already a rumor going around about him, Jon felt it was best that he be the one to officially tell her, before she heard something more from someone else.

''He didn't rape her. They loved each other. They got married in secret. After Rhaegar died in the Trident, she had a son. If he had known, Robert would have put the child to death. Lyanna knew this. Her last act, as she...''

Jon hesitated, and Daenerys looked at him with insistent eyes:

''As she bathed in his blood after giving birth was to entrust the child to his brother Ned, Stark...''

He didn't need to say any more.

Daenerys had understood.

She abruptly moved away from him, waiting for the rest, even though deep down she wasn't sure she wanted to hear it.

In fact, she was pretty sure she didn't even want to hear it.

A whole life spent thinking that it was her, the last of the Targaryen, she, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, she who was destined for greatness, she who was the legitimate heiress to the Iron Throne, all this to finally find someone more legitimate than her.

''... so that he would raise him as his bastard.''

No, no, no. That could not be the truth.

He looked her in the eyes.

''My name... My real name is Aegon Targaryen.''

She shook her head:

''It's impossible...''

And yet his eyes screamed that he was telling the truth.

As if Jon Snow could have lied one day. Even when it came to their survival, the survival of all of them, he found himself unable to lie to Cersei Lannister.

''I wish it were...''

Daenerys' eyes had become hard, hard as stone, like the stones with which she had entered that inferno eight years earlier and which had forged her destiny.

The Mother of Dragons.

Three dragons, three, like the three heads of the three-headed dragon in their emblem.

"Who told you that?''

''Bran. He saw it.''

She frowned:

"He saw it?''

"And Samwell confirmed it.''

She wanted to scream. She had only briefly met Samwell Tarly, to thank him for saving Ser Jorah's life by curing him of the Greyscale, and yet he seemed to her just as incapable as Jon Snow, just as capable as Aegon Targaryen of lying.

''He learned of their marriage from a book in the Citadel without making the connection at the time.''

Daenerys' voice was as cold as the winter winds blowing outside when she replied:

''A secret that no one in the world shares, except your brother and your best friend. Isn't that strange to you?''

Jon's voice became harder, drier, too:

''It's the truth. I know it is.''

Yes. Yes, of course it was the truth. Deep down inside, Daenerys knew it, too. But she just didn't want to, she couldn't admit it.

''If it were true, it would mean that you are the male heir of the Targaryen dynasty. You could claim the Iron Throne.''

Jon grabs her by the shoulders.

''I don't want it. I told you before, you are my queen.''

Daenerys wouldn't listen to him. She was tired of listening.

''Who else knows about this but me, besides Bran and Samwell?''

Jon looked down.

No. No, he still couldn't have told Sansa before he told her, could he? Didn't he?!

His eyes met hers, and she understood.

Yes, he could. And he had.

''I told Sansa and Arya.''

Daenerys felt the anger boil inside her.

''Did you tell them before you told me?''

Jon didn't understand Daenerys' fury. Sansa and Arya were Stark. They were just as trustworthy as he was. Why didn't she see that?

"Sansa and Arya are my sisters.''

"And I am your queen.''

She sighed:

She sighed:

''Now that Sansa and Arya know, the rumor will spread. You will be unable to control the consequences on our people, despite what you may have sworn, despite how many times you may have pledged your allegiance. I want us to stay together, as it has always been. Sansa is going to want me to leave, and for the Iron Throne to return to Aegon Targaryen.''

Jon shook his head:

"You are mistaken.''

Daenerys gave him another hard look.

''This is no longer the girl you grew up with. Not after what she saw. Not after what they did to her.''

''I had to tell her. Anyway, she's still my sister.''

Daenerys couldn't help but retaliate:

''And your sister is conspiring with Cersei !''

She gasped. She shouldn't have said that. She should never have said that. She had absolutely no proof that what she said was true, and she probably risked alienating Jon in the long run with her unfounded accusations against Sansa, which were becoming more and more repetitive.

Jon's eyes were questioning when he looked at her, but there was something else, and Daenerys couldn't really figure out what it was. Something that looked like disappointment. She couldn't even remember the last time someone had looked at her that way.

''We've talked about this before. Sansa is my sister. She would never betray us like that.''

His voice was strangely cold.

''No, that... That's not what I meant... I meant that when we went to King's Landing, Sansa went to speak to Cersei alone... What proof do we have that she didn't try to bribe her? She can't be trusted, after all.''

She was lying. She was always convinced that there was something more going on during their discussion, something that Sansa refused to admit to them. All she had to do was find out what it was. But she had to be careful. Sansa was not to know that Daenerys suspected her of anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a little review, it's always a great pleasure ^^


	9. Chapter 8 : The Soulmates

_King's Landing was on fire._

_The cold, humid winter air had become hot, burning, almost unbreathable because of the smoke and ashes._

_The Red Keep was crumbling a little more with each passing minute._

_The Golden Company had been decimated by Daenerys and her dragon, who had finally decided to set the capital on fire and blood._

_Cersei gasped._

_She was alone in the midst of this chaos, completely alone, as her world crumbled around her._

_Panting, she put her hand on her belly._

_She had to flee. She had no choice._

_She would die if she didn't leave._

_She would die, and her little lion cub, her little lion cubs would die with her._

_She couldn't let that happen._

_She was not crying._

_Cersei had no more tears. She had already shed them all, when Jaime hadn't returned from the North. She hadn't heard from him, not one, and she had deduced that he had abandoned her._

_He couldn't be dead, she knew that. She would have known it, she would have felt it, if her other half had left this world, but not her._

_They were one soul in two bodies. She couldn't have missed it._

_She was pulled from her thoughts by a huge block of stone that crashed just a few meters from her._

_She had to hurry and leave the patio where the map of Westeros was painted as soon as possible._

_She was no longer safe here, if she had ever been safe in one place._

_She turned around. She had no time to lose._

_And she saw it._

_He was there. Jaime was there._

_The beard he had grown over his face, it was stained with blood and dirt, his clothes were torn and stained, but he was there._

_Sercilia was right next to him, and ran to join Aramis next to Cersei._

_Jaime walked to the center of the room as Cersei reached out her arms to him._

_She had never felt better than when he closed his arms around her, hugging her tightly, despite her growing belly between them._

_Sercilia rubbed herself against Aramis, like two halves of the same being separated for too long._

_When after long seconds, or perhaps minutes, or hours, Cersei moved back a little, to better see Jaime's face, she blew:_

_''You came back for me...''_

_But his emerald green eyes had become hard, as hard as the stones falling from the sky, as hard as the stones raining down, as if out of nowhere, when he replied :_

_"No.''_

_The rest arrived so quickly that Cersei didn't really realize what was happening._

_Sercilia jumped on Aramis, and stuck her claws into his back and fangs into his neck, making him roar as he tried to defend himself._

_Cersei felt a sharp pain in her abdomen._

_Instinctively, she put one of her hands on it, before removing it, almost immediately, greasy, full of red sticky liquid._

_Lannister red._

_Blood red._

_Breathless and jerky, Cersei barely had time to look down at her belly to see a dagger, the blade embedded in her flesh, dripping with the same blood that was fouling her hands, before everything around her turned black and she felt herself tilting backwards._

The pain was still there, in the same place it had been just a few seconds before when Cersei woke up in a sweat and out of breath as if she had just run for several hours, perhaps to escape her death.

It took her a few minutes to come to her senses.

She wasn't in the patio of the map, she was in her apartments, in her bed.

Everything seemed strangely normal. The night was dark outside, and surprisingly calm, as if the war that was going on hundreds of leagues away was just a dream, too, or rather not, a nightmare.

But if it was only a nightmare, Jaime would be there, asleep, next to her, embraced with her, their arms and legs intertwined.

Instead, there was only Aramis, who had gotten used to sleeping glued to her when Jaime was away, as if being huddled up against her soul half could compensate even a little for not being able to be against her other half.

Cersei exhaled deeply.

It was just a dream, nothing but a dream.

None of it was true, none of it was true, the Red Keep, the city, the world was not collapsing, was not being reduced to ashes by the Targaryen girl who had come to spread fire and the golden blood of the lions.

But, if all this was only a dream, only a vast illusion, how can we explain that the pain in her entrails is still there, very present, very real?

She sat down, waiting for a few minutes, to see if it passed, as if it was only a vestige of her dream, but just when she thought it had subsided, that it was over, that it was only a phantom pain, a false memory, another cramp took her in her lower abdomen, and this time she felt something flowing between her thighs, a kind of liquid, sticky, sticky.

_No._

Cersei frantically tugged at the sheets, then at her nightgown.

_No, no, no..._

Tears started rolling down her cheeks before she even saw what really happened.

Unconsciously, she knew.

A large red stain spread out on the mattress, growing a little more every second, smearing the white skin on her thighs, the same red that had stained her hand when she put it on her bruised belly in her dream.

Lannister red.

Blood red.

She shook her head, refusing to believe it, tears now flowing freely from her beautiful emerald eyes.

''No.... No...''

Yes.

When she was forced to face the facts, she took her face in her hands.

She was crying her eyes out.

She had just lost her baby, her last baby, maybe the last one she would ever have.

She had just lost another part of Jaime that had stayed with her.

Again.

Aramis, who had been awakened by the commotion, came to rub her nose against his human's cheek, even licking her face, but nothing helped.

She did not stop crying, silently, as she had always done, but she cried anyway.

And even if she had wanted to, she couldn't have.

* * *

Jaime was in the apartments that Sansa had given him when he arrived in Winterfell, alone with his dæmon.

He contemplated the fire burning in the fireplace, casting a soft orange glow in the room darkened by the dark night outside, without really seeing him.

He had no business being here. He knew it.

His place was beside Cersei, in King's Landing, not in the North, hundreds of leagues from the capital.

He missed her terribly.

He grimaced as he took the mug of brown beer from the table in front of him, and took a long drink.

For once he had the chance to finally become a father, to finally be able to claim his child as his own, without a king to give a deer name to their little lion or their little lioness, he had to fight for life, for their life, while not being sure of coming back from it.

He must have been far from Cersei, when he could have watched her belly swelling gently with their little lion cub inside, with the new soft curves of her body blooming.

While they could have spent their time talking about lullabies and first names.

He was worried.

He didn't appreciate at all having been forced to leave her alone in the middle of the capital's nest of vipers and vultures.

Oh, she wasn't really alone, he knew that.

She had Qyburn, she had The Mountain, she had the Golden Company, but would all these beautiful people be enough if Euron Greyjoy decided, for example, that it was time for her to give him what she had promised him, by force or willingly?

The Starks often said that in winter, it was necessary to look after each other, to protect each other.

When the snow falls, and the icy wind blows, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives ...

Jaime sighed. If it was true for wolves, it was also true for lions.

And, for now, he and Cersei were nothing more than lonely, lonely lions, deprived of their pack, while winter was fast approaching, if it wasn't already here.

He took a sip of his beer, which seemed so bland to him that it might as well have been something else and he wouldn't have noticed.

Sercilia was well aware that there was something wrong with her human, and she knew exactly what caused it.

She got up from the floor where she had been lying, just in front of the hearth, enjoying the gentle warmth of the roaring flames, and came over to the chair where Jaime was slumped, recalling her dark thoughts, drinking the thick brown drink that the Northerners called beer, and which replaced at Winterfell the delicate blood-red or gold wines from Dorne or The Arbor usually served at King's Landing.

With a smooth and graceful movement, she jumped on the table to face her human.

''Stop brooding, will you? Cersei _is_ fine.''

Jaime looked at her, doubtful:

"And how can you be so sure?''

''It's not the first time she's been alone without us.''

Seeing that he didn't seem convinced, she continued:

''And besides, she is not alone. She has Aramis with her.''

Jaime had a kind of joyless laughter:

''Having Aramis with her didn't stop the High Sparrow and his filthy soldiers of the Faith Militant from throwing her in a cell, nor from humiliating her in front of all the people of King's Landing.''

''The Great Sparrow and all the members of the Faith Militant are dead.''

Jaime mumbled something unintelligible and took another sip of beer.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door.

Jaime considered not answering, making the person on the other side of the door think he wasn't there, after all, he didn't want to see anyone, he wasn't in the mood for that.

But the door opened anyway, even though the intruder was not allowed in, and as Jaime was about to grumble that he hadn't invited him in, he changed his mind when he realized that this person was his brother.

Tyrion approached the table, followed by Stelsa, and Sercilia descended from there, returning to the fire, her favorite spot.

''I was beginning to believe Daenerys when she told us that Cersei had lied.''

Jaime waited a long time before saying anything, staring blankly into the void, not having the slightest desire in the world to make conversation with anyone.

He turned his head again, and looked at his brother, before pointing out to him:

''Your queen didn't look very happy to see our armies coming.''

He hadn't missed the look that Daenerys had given him that morning, a look that had given him a chill, a look that had suddenly brought him back almost thirty years earlier, the reminiscence leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Tyrion sat on the chair in front of Jaime :

"She's your queen too.''

Jaime grimaced.

"No, she isn't.''

Tyrion sighed:

"But you don't have a choice.''

Jaime looked at him for a long time without saying anything.

''She's going to die if she doesn't surrender peacefully. Daenerys will see to it.

''Daenerys hasn't won yet. Cersei has all the odds on her side.''

''You know damn well how this is going to end.''

To tell the truth, Tyrion himself wasn't convinced.

He wasn't sure what he liked best. He knew that what he had said was right. If Cersei did not present her surrender when Daenerys arrived at the gates of the capital, she would have her killed.

A few years ago, he would have been delighted at the prospect.

Seeing Cersei die had been his greatest desire, or at least that's what he had firmly believed in.

But was it really, deep down, his true wish?

He swallowed as he thought back to his sister, to the conversation they had had after she had left Dragonpit without turning around, depriving them of a glimmer of hope in the darkness that came over them, thinking back to the hand she had placed on her belly, to her own glimmer of hope.

He couldn't let that happen.

He looked away at his brother, who had turned his eyes away, and lost himself again in the contemplation of the crackling wood fire in the hearth.

Jaime would never forgive him if anything happened to Cersei or their baby and he did nothing to stop it.

But there was Daenerys.

Daenerys, who took him in after Cersei forced him into exile.

Daenerys, who had been so kind, so respectful to him, when almost no one but his brother had shown him that kind of feeling.

Daenerys, who, like him, dreamed of a better world, a world of liberated people and broken chains, a world of broken wheels, no, destroyed.

And he thought of Sansa.

Sansa, who had just made a pact with the devil, offering Cersei her tranquility in exchange for her armies.

But he knew, deep down inside, he knew, even if he didn't want to admit it.

Like Varys, she had understood what would happen if Daenerys finally managed to reach the cursed Iron Throne.

The motto of the Targaryen was Fire and Blood.

Sansa knew very well that there would never be peace, nothing but war, chaos and misery if Daenerys became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

He couldn't blame her.

He was tired, so tired of it all.

He couldn't confess anything to Daenerys.

He had reproached Varys for being a traitor wannabe, but he was just as much of a traitor.

That thought revolted him, and for a brief moment he thought of saying everything, unpacking everything, but the next second he changed his mind, because it was Sansa, and he couldn't bear to see her suffer the supreme punishment.

She had trusted him, by revealing to him the secret of her alliance with Cersei, but also the secret of Jon Snow's birth and filiation.

And she had been right to trust him. He wouldn't say anything.

Jaime finally decided to take a new interest in his brother:

''How will it end?''

Tyrion looked him in the eyes:

''If Daenerys wins, she'll kill Cersei. But if Cersei surrenders, there may be a chance that she'll let you live, because you contributed to the Great War.''

Jaime had a joyless laugh.

''How can you delude yourself so much? I killed her father, a king I had sworn to protect, and Cersei is sitting on her throne. She will never spare us.''

Tyrion didn't want to believe that.

He knew his brother was right, but he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

''I will convince her, and...''

Jaime cut it:

''You're not going to be able to convince her to do something like that. And even if you did, you know as well as I do that Cersei will never surrender.''

Tyrion stared at him intensely:

''You must absolutely try to persuade her...''

Jaime looked away, refusing to meet his eyes, and took another shot of his beer, before pouring it back into his mug.

Tyrion had never seen him drink so much before, except on the night of Cersei's wedding to Robert.

He knew instinctively that there was something wrong with him, and he had no doubt that he knew what the problem was.

He got up from his chair and stood between him and the fireplace to make sure he was looking at him.

After a long silence, Jaime frowned, as if he was about to make a particularly unpleasant confession:

''Cersei and I are going to have a baby.''

"I know.''

Jaime looked at him in amazement.

"Did Cersei tell you?''

Tyrion shook his head.

''I guessed it. There are signs that don't fool you.''

Jaime nodded, and added nothing, looking upset.

Tyrion pointed this out to him:

''Aren't you happy about this prospect? You should be glad. There's no one else to claim your child. You could finally be his father.''

Jaime looked at him:

''Of course I am, I'm happy. But it is possible, if we lose the war against the dead, that I may never meet my son or daughter. And even if we win, I'm not sure I'll make it home in time for the birth.''

''Of course you will. There is only a month's journey to King's Landing. A pregnancy lasts nine. How long had Cersei been pregnant when you left?''

''Two and a half months, I think.''

''Then you'll be back in time for the capital.''

That's obviously not enough to persuade Jaime.

Tyrion resumed, trying to play on the nerve:

''But if you don't somehow convince Cersei to relinquish the throne, you'll never see him or her grow up.''

''You know perfectly well that this child is the very reason why Cersei won't give in. She would be capable of all possible and imaginable horrors if it meant that she could be sure that our cub would be safe.''

Yes, she would.

Tyrion knew this all too well.

He hadn't seen it with his own eyes, but he knew that Cersei had been prepared to commit suicide with Tommen at the Battle of the Blackwater, to keep them from falling into the hands of their enemies.

She would do the unthinkable for her children, he was perfectly aware of this.

''And I maintain that it is not unlikely that she would prevail over Daenerys.''

''Daenerys has two dragons.''

''And our sister will have twenty thousand men ready to fight, who will not have to face the dead, when she comes to the gates.''

''I know the city better than anyone else. I defended it the last time it was attacked. It will fall.''

''Cersei has a solution in case of defeat.''

Tyrion frowned.

If that's what he thought, Varys had been right.

Confidence had now passed to the stage of information.

And if Cersei knew, it was not good for them. Really not good.

But how could she know that?

The news was going fast, in the Seven Kingdoms, with spies scattered all over Westeros, but Cersei still had to have some in the North.

Tyrion opened his eyes.

Could it be that...

No, that was impossible.

She wouldn't have betrayed them in this way, by telling Cersei what her brother had asked her to keep secret.

She wouldn't have done that, would she? Would she?

But he remembered that Sansa was no longer the innocent little girl he had known, the very young, too young girl he had married.

She had experienced horrible things, things he didn't even want to imagine, things that had made her grow up too brutally, things that had changed her.

Not long before, he would have said that it was simply impossible for Sansa to have made an alliance with Cersei.

But what followed proved him wrong.

And the palpable tension between her and Daenerys was no longer to be proven. It was clear that the two young women had no lost love for each other, and it seemed that Sansa was willing to do anything, absolutely anything, to prevent her from reaching the Iron Throne, including betraying her to the woman he thought was her worst enemy.

So, could it be that Sansa may have told Cersei about Jon's identity, in the hope of overthrowing Daenerys?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a little review, it's always a great pleasure ^^


	10. Chapter 9 : Outside the Gates

Tyrion quickly drove away thoughts of Sansa's possible betrayal, and preferred to ask Jaime directly:

''And what solution could our sister have found in case she lost?''

Jaime looked at him for a long time, and sighed:

''I shouldn't tell you. Cersei made me promise to keep it a secret.''

Tyrion looked up to the sky:

''Oh, please. I am your brother.''

''You may be my brother, but you serve our enemies. I have no way of making sure that what I say to you will not be immediately repeated to your queen as soon as you walk out of this room.''

Jaime's doubts hurt Tyrion's heart. The thought that his brother thought he was no longer trustworthy hurt him, mainly because he knew he was incapable of unintentionally harming him.

After all, Jaime had been the only Lannister to show him hatred and contempt, the only Lannister who had not wanted him dead since the day he was born, the only Lannister who believed him innocent of Joffrey's murder, even though it was his son, the only Lannister who had prevented his execution and set him free.

Perhaps Jaime was really angry that he had sent him to Essos. Maybe he regretted doing that, sending him to bend the knee and pledge allegiance to the Mother of Dragons.

Maybe he blamed himself for having, indirectly, brought Daenerys and death to Westeros.

But he must have known that Tyrion would never hurt him, or do anything to make him unhappy.

If that meant having to make sure Cersei was alive and safe, then so be it.

(He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he could never have hurt Cersei either. Never. Even if he didn't want to confess it to himself, it was true, he knew it, deep down inside.)

Tyrion looked at his brother again:

''Jaime, I would never betray your trust. You know it, you must know it.''

Jaime didn't say anything for a while, but then he finally breathed:

''For about twenty years, Cersei has known a secret that she is, presumably, the only one who knows.''

Tyrion stared at him intensely, waiting for the rest.

Jaime continued:

''As far as she knows, Jon Snow is not Ned Stark's bastard, as we were led to believe. He is the son of Lyanna Stark, and of...''

Tyrion finishes his brother's sentence for him:

''... and Rhaegar Targaryen.''

Jaime frowned:

"How do you know? Who told you?''

''Sansa, who herself learned it from Jon, who learned it from their brother, and from his best friend, Randyll Tarly's eldest son... I think.''

Jaime nodded his head but said nothing, and Tyrion paused hesitantly, before asking the question that had been tormenting him for long minutes, unbearable, unbearable:

''What about Cersei, how does she know?''

''She was at court at the same time as Lyanna Stark. They were friends. Lyanna told her that she was pregnant, and Cersei vowed not to talk about it. She didn't say anything when she married Robert, because he would have had the child killed. She and Ned Stark were the only ones in confidence.''

''But why didn't she ever tell us?''

Jaime shrugged:

''She made a promise, she kept it. Just as she honored her word, by sending me and our men into the war against the White Walkers. The walls of the Red Keep have ears: it wasn't safe to talk about it there. I understand why she preferred to keep it a secret.''

Tyrion nodded.

''And what does she intend to do if she loses the war against Daenerys and King's Landing falls?''

Jaime sighed, looking at him for a long time, as if he was examining him to see if he was really trustworthy, as he claimed. Just as Tyrion thought he would refrain from answering, Jaime sighed again, before saying:

''She will reveal the identity of Jon Snow. Being the son of Rhaegar, he is more legitimate than Daenerys to be the next king of the Iron Throne. He is, after all, the male heir of the Targaryen dynasty. She thinks that he will be more merciful to us, and that he will let us live, since we will have indeed contributed to the Great War, as we had sworn, and ...''

Tyrion cut it off before he could finish his sentence:

"Jon Snow doesn't want the Iron Throne.''

"He was raised by Ned Stark. He has an honor from Stark, the same honor that made him refuse Cersei's offer, when he could have lied during the talks at Dragonpit. Even if he doesn't want the Iron Throne, he will accept it if he has to.''

There was only one instance where Jon Snow could have been forced to accept the throne, and Tyrion knew exactly what it was.

For Jon to accept, Daenerys would have to die.

Tyrion looked at Jaime:

''It might work, but only if Daenerys is killed. And, as you certainly know, it is not easy to occire her.''

He thought back to the attack on the spoils of Highgarden, to how the golden fool who was his brother had taken a spear from the ground and rushed it straight at her, without thinking for a moment, as she turned her back on him, busily pulling out spikes from her dragon's skin, putting as much ardor into it as if she had been the one who had been wounded. Just as that same dragon had spit its flames at Jaime, who would have been burned alive if Bronn had not thrown him into the river.

''If Cersei reveals Jon Snow's true identity to everyone, the Lords of Westeros will be in his favor rather than that of Daenerys. She doesn't need to kill her for that. If she loses all the support she has for Jon, she will no longer have any claim to the Iron Throne. He is the rightful heir.''

Basically, it was a great idea, and Tyrion knew it. Cersei had more than one trick up her sleeve, and she had proved it again.

But now that he knew she knew, a new question arose.

Should he tell Daenerys?

If he didn't, he would be guilty of treason.

But if he did, and told her about Cersei's plans, who knows what she would be able to do?

To Sansa, to Jaime, to Cersei, to their baby?

No.

He couldn't.

He couldn't put Sansa and her brother and sister in such danger.

He had no right to.

Even if it meant putting himself in danger, he wouldn't do it.

* * *

''I'm sorry, Your Grace.''

Cersei took advantage of Qyburn's turned back to wipe her tears with the back of her hand in a gesture filled with rage and despair.

She didn't want to cry in front of him, although it certainly wouldn't be the first time.

She felt horribly stupid.

She knew exactly what had happened, what had happened.

She had known it from the moment she saw the blood smeared in a large scarlet stain on her sheets.

She knew it long before Qyburn confirmed it.

And yet she had allowed herself to hope.

Hoping that this was just a nightmare, nothing more than a horrible nightmare.

Hoping that her little lion cub was still there, safe, in her belly, away from all the horrors of the world.

Hoping that when she put her hand on her belly, she would feel the tender bulge indicating that her baby, Jaime's baby, their toddler was still there.

Of course, that wasn't the case.

Cersei swallowed, sighed, nodded gently, and put her gowns back in order.

She sat up, straightening herself from her reclining position, and Aramis rubbed her huge head against her in a meager attempt to comfort her.

In vain, of course.

She remained silent for a few minutes, which seemed to her to be hours, before finally saying:

"It is not your fault. You had nothing to do with it.''

Qyburn approached her again, worried.

He knew she had been excited about the prospect of this new baby, as unexpected as it was unhoped.

And yet, all that hope had just been swept away like that, all of a sudden, without warning, without anything or anyone being able to do anything about it.

And he knew she would be shattered by it.

As if that wasn't enough, her brother wasn't there with her.

He was on the other side of the country, caught up in the war against death, the war against the dead, when she could never have needed him more than she did at that moment.

He clumsily put his hand on her arm, his monkey daemon touching the shoulder of the Queen's lion in the same way, and said:

"If there is anything I can do for you...''

Cersei lowered her eyes, no longer managing to hide the tears that were slowly streaming down her cheeks, nor the trembling in her voice:

"Not much, I'm afraid...''

Qyburn gently rubbed her arm, and, swallowing her tears, she rose slowly, slightly wobbly, before moving, without adding another word, towards the door, standing upright again, as a queen should be, letting nothing show of the misfortune that had just befallen her.

* * *

During the few days following his discussion with his brother, Tyrion carefully avoided being alone in the same room as Daenerys.

He even tried not to cross her burning amethyst eyes, for fear that his betrayal, the proof of his felony, would be visible, all too visible, in his own emeralds.

But he did not manage to postpone indefinitely the moment when he would be alone with her, and the fact that one of the Unsullied prevented him from going out at the end of an umpteenth session of his Small Council on what to do about the capital, Although the only thing Daenerys wanted to hear was that she would be obeyed under all circumstances, that Jon Snow did not want the throne, that Sansa would do nothing, and that she would be allowed to put King's Landing to fire and blood if that was what she wanted, led him to believe that his queen knew far more than he wanted.

As soon as everyone was out of the room, Daenerys signaled to the few eunuch soldiers to follow the movement and withdraw from the room, which they did without the slightest resistance.

They were the only ones left in the room.

The tension was palpable.

Until relatively recently, Tyrion would never have believed anyone who told him that he would one day feel such uneasiness at the prospect of being alone with Daenerys.

He was even just looking for that, to be alone with her, so that she could see what he was worth, how loyal he was to her, how faithful he was to her, the most faithful of all her servants, the most trustworthy, too.

But he didn't really anticipate that Sansa's life, Jaime's life, or even Cersei's life would one day enter the equation.

And now that he was up against the wall, he didn't hesitate about what the choice he would make would be.

There was a long silence between them, which sent chills down Tyrion's spine.

He knew he had to be careful. One wrong word, and he could immediately end up being burned alive by a dragon.

After all, Daenerys had already warned him many times what would happen if he disappointed her again.

And, judging by the expression on her face, that's exactly what he had just done. Again.

Daenerys looked him in the eye:

''It seems we share a secret in common, don't we?''

Tyrion was well aware that there was no point in trying to lie, to get away with it. She wasn't really asking a question, she already knew the answer. She obviously didn't need him to know what had been said or to prove it. Attempting to hide the truth from her would be absolutely useless, except for the act of her impending death.

He blew:

"That's right.''

She went around the map of Westeros, and came closer to him:

''And it also seems your sister is in the loop, too, as far as I know.''

Tyrion opened his eyes in surprise.

It was one thing for her to know that he was aware of Jon's identity. That she knew that Cersei also knew about the secret was another.

He didn't answer, not knowing what to say to save his own skin, and that of all his loved ones.

He glanced furtively at Stelsa, who was hiding under the table.

He was quickly reminded of reality by Daenerys:

"Who told you?''

Quickly, quickly, something had to be found. He couldn't accuse Sansa, Daenerys already had enough suspicions as it would be like signing her death warrant, and he couldn't bring himself to do that.

Daenerys didn't wait for his answer:

''It doesn't matter anymore. What does matter, however, is the identity of the person who saw fit to reveal everything to Cersei, thus compromising my legitimacy for the claim to the Iron Throne.'

Tyrion was surprised by the apparent fear in his own voice:

''It wasn't me, I swear to you.''

Daenerys observed him harshly.

"It wasn't you I was thinking about.''

He sighed, almost relieved.

"Lady Stark, on the other hand...''

His blood was just a trick.

No, no...

''Lady Stark seems to have a lot to hide, and I wonder if a certain complicity with your sister might be one of them. Besides, she was one of the only ones who knew Jon's true identity."

''Sansa has absolutely nothing to do with this story. I'll vouch for her.''

He didn't miss Daenerys' dark look in her eyes:

"And how can you be so sure?''

He had to find something, something to say, something to answer, something that would justify Sansa's innocence.

''Jaime. My brother Jaime told me.''

''Your brother...''

''It can't be Sansa's fault. It can't be her who gave the information to Cersei. Otherwise, how else could my brother have known? He left the capital more than a month ago, long before this revelation came to the surface. If Sansa had indeed communicated this confidence to my sister, my brother could never have known. Somehow, Cersei knew beforehand. Perhaps even before all of us.''

Daenerys was forced to face the facts.

Tyrion must have been telling the truth. His reasoning was not devoid of logic. That Sansa had spoken to Cersei about Jon's identity seemed unlikely, too unlikely for her to accuse the young Stark without risking the wrath of Jon, and, by extension, the wrath of the Norse, whose support she needed in her conquest of the Iron Throne.

She felt herself bubbling with rage.

She had wanted so much, she had hoped so much to finally catch the young Stark.

So, when she had learned from one of the many spies in her pay that Cersei, in King's Landing, knew of Jon's lineage, she jumped at the chance.

But just when she thought she had finally managed to trap Sansa Stark, she slipped through her fingers, once again.

She addressed her Hand again:

''You're right. In retrospect, it seems unlikely to me that Lady Stark is really Cersei's source of information.''

Tyrion seemed relieved.

Daenerys came a little closer to him again:

''But I warn you. If I ever find the slightest proof, the weakest proof there is, that Lady Stark is truly conspiring with Cersei, and she will pay the consequences, however heavy they may be.''

And she added, as he seemed ready to leave:

''And since you're vouching for her and her honesty, that goes for you too. ''

With that, she left the room, leaving him alone with Stelsa, distraught.

What kind of trouble had he just gotten himself into, got them all into?

* * *

Night had almost fallen on Winterfell when the bell rang.

Everyone rushed into the castle courtyard, just in time to see three horses galloping through the still open gates.

Jon was caught in the middle of the crowd, but still managed to clear a path, followed by Ghost.

As soon as he looked outside, he immediately recognized the three men who had just made their entrance.

Edd Tollett, Tormund and Beric Dondarrion.

As far as he knew, they were at Eastwatch, when the fortress had collapsed with part of the Wall under the assaults of the Night King.

He was relieved to see them alive and safe, but their unexpected arrival could mean only one thing.

The dead were already there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a little review, it's always a pleasure ^^


	11. Chapter 10 : Dead Before the Dawn

The flakes flew in the air, before landing lightly on the red tiles of the roofs.

It was snowing in King's Landing, this time for good.

An icy wind was blowing across the city, with cold air rushing absolutely everywhere.

The sky was gray, dark, just like Cersei's mood.

Since her miscarriage a few days earlier, she had refused to speak to anyone, even her maids.

She no longer ate, she no longer slept.

Her pale face was now marked by deep purple rings, her complexion was pale and her eyes dull like emeralds deprived of their brilliance.

She spent her days looking out the window at the vast world below her, but she could not see it, her eyes lost in the emptiness, thinking of nothing, nothing, what she would have liked to be at that moment, nothing.

Sometimes, her hand would come to rest naturally on her belly, as if her little lion cub was still there, as if her brain hadn't recorded that her entrails had turned into a tomb, it's dead in there, it's dead.

And that was perhaps the cruelest irony of the whole unfortunate story.

Cersei had hardly lost any weight since the loss of her baby.

She had lost a little weight, but the swelling that was barely visible when Jaime left her, and that had been growing ever since, hadn't disappeared, as if the gods had seen fit that even her body was struggling to make her think she was still pregnant, as punishment for the long list of so-called sins she was dragging behind her, like a prisoner dragging his chains.

That day was no different from any other day.

She was, as usual, at the window of her apartments, alone, with her dæmon, lying in front of the fireplace a little further away, which had also, along with her human, lost some of its beauty. His coat no longer had the golden sheen of yesteryear, he seemed less proud, less majestic, less imposing than he had been before.

She thought she should tell Jaime.

She bit her lip. How was she going to tell him?

He had been so excited at the idea of having a son or daughter who could finally bear his name, their name, that he could hold him or her in his arms and watch him or her grow, and not just watch from afar, as he had had to be content to do when Robert was still of this world.

She wondered if he would resent her. She hoped he wouldn't, she felt bad enough for both of them.

She couldn't have prevented this from happening, of course, and yet she blamed herself, without really knowing why.

Cersei didn't expect to hear the door to her quarters open on the fly, having made it clear that she didn't want to see anyone unless it was a matter of the utmost importance, and jumped when she heard it.

In any case, no one would have had either the temerity or the insolence to disembark in the queen's apartments without asking her permission and without fear of risking her wrath.

Well, almost nobody.

Even before she saw him, she knew who he was, and yet she was surprised and disgusted when she saw out of the corner of her eye, not even bothering to turn her head to look at him, Euron Greyjoy, strutting in, as if he were already the master of the place, his wide arrogant smile spread over his perfectly unpleasant face, and his equally unpleasant vulture dæmon perched on his shoulder.

Cersei said in a cold voice that did not betray her emotions at all:

''I thought I had made it clear that I didn't want anyone at my side.''

She felt the Ironborn approaching her, but she still refused to turn her head and look him in the eye.

She could work on her voice, make it sound other than what it really was, but, unfortunately, not her face.

If Euron Greyjoy saw her in this state, he would immediately know that something was wrong. And she could not afford to be vulnerable to him.

"Not even your future king?''

Not at all, she refrained from whistling, her teeth clenched.

If there was one person she didn't want to be with, it was Euron Greyjoy.

Even before the loss of her little one, she had abhorred him to the core, but after what she had just endured, she felt that she might not be as capable of self-control as she had been before.

She chose not to answer the question of the pirate who claimed to be king, and instead asked him :

"What are you doing here?''

''See how you're doing, of course. I haven't seen you for several days now, and from what I know, it is a man's duty to be concerned about his wife's health.''

Cersei refrained from sniggering at this assertion, although she was sorely lacking in envy. She knew very well what Euron had come for, and she was even less willing to give it to him than usual.

''I know what you want.''

His smile widened even more, revealing more of his rotten teeth, as he moved a little closer to her, indecently reducing the space between them.

''Good. It will be faster and more pleasant for both of us.''

Cersei took a deep breath, to hide the annoyance in her voice:

''You've already told me your request, and I've already told you that I'll fulfill it. But, according to the terms of our alliance, once the war against the Targaryen girl is over, and won.''

''War which, because of your involvement in the war against the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead, is on indefinite pause.''

Cersei did not have the strength to resist when he grabbed her by the arm and forced her to turn around to face him.

She tried to free herself, but to no avail.

The lack of food and sleep made her feel weak, helpless, too much to really manage to fight against Euron's strength, which, in any case, was far superior to hers.

And there was no question of her complaining, of her begging him, of her pleading not to undress her brutally and to force himself inside her, just as Robert had done for years, and drawing, just like him, a kind of particularly perverse satisfaction from her pleas and the tears in her eyes, even though she refused to let them flow.

She was a queen. A queen commanded, and was obeyed, or those who defied her authority found themselves severely punished.

She whistled:

"Let go of me.''

He looked into her eyes. He no longer smiled.

''You are going to give me what I want. You are alone, your one-handed brother is not there to defend you, any more than the corpse that serves as your bodyguard. You can't do anything against me.''

She felt him grab her by the front of her dress, which he ripped off, the leather easily unravelling in his strong grip.

She reiterated her command, but in a much less assertive voice now that her face was only a few inches away from his, and only the thin layer of silk of her underwear separated his busy hand undressing her from her breasts, the other holding her firmly.

''Let go of me, or I swear that...''

There was more than desire and arrogance in Euron's gaze as the black eyes plunged into the green eyes.

A kind of darkness darkened them even more, the wickedness, the monstrosity struggling inside, as had been the case in Robert's eyes years before.

''You swear what? What are you going to do to me?''

But he let go of her, taking his hand from her arm, leaving red marks, which would surely turn blue or purple in the morning.

Cersei was used to men leaving their marks on her body, as if she was a property to be marked, a due.

The only one who had never done so was Jaime.

Of course, there had been marks, love bites, scratch marks when his nails scraped her skin under the waves of pleasure, but never wounds.

Euron walked away, and Cersei paid no further attention to him, pulling the tatters of her clothes up over her flesh exposed to the biting cold of winter.

(Perhaps if she had followed him with her eyes, she would have seen that he wasn't heading for the exit, but for the fireplace).

She was thus bent in two by the sudden and violent pain that took her breath away when Euron plunged his hand into the golden fur of Aramis, still asleep, clutching the tawny's skin with all his strength, while his cursed vulture did the same, pushing her claws in as deeply as she could.

It was strictly forbidden to touch anyone else's soul. No, not forbidden. Taboo.

Of course, she and Jaime had done it before.

Sometimes they would gently caress each other's dæmon, after all, their relationship too, was taboo, and yet it was good, so touching the soul, the soul half of their twin in the same way they touched each other could only be good, too.

But Jaime had never used her dæmon to hurt her, and she had never done so either.

But Euron had.

Cersei felt like her whole body was on fire, so much so that the pain burning her insides was horrible, not so much because of the act itself, but the feeling of being soiled, dirty, raped, just as he had almost done just a few minutes before.

Robert, too, had thought that he had been allowed to touch her dæmon, after all, she was his wife, she was his property, she was his, so her soul was his, too, and he had done it exactly the same way, and yet she didn't remember such great suffering, perhaps because Jaime was there, and she was going to take refuge in his arms as soon as all this was over, but that wasn't the case there.

She was relieved when Aramis woke up, a handful of seconds later, but it seemed like hours to Cersei, and stuck his long fangs into the skin of Euron's arm, making him gasp in pain, blood flowing from the wound as if it could compensate for Cersei's, and her torture, her torment, stopped.

Euron had fallen to the ground because of the lion's force, and was still there when Cersei stood up and said to him, the burning hatred in her wildfire eyes, but her voice as cold as the wind outside :

''The next time you try again what you did tonight will be the last minutes of your life you'll spend with your head on your shoulders.''

She got a little closer to him, and continued:

''I promised you something. When the war is over, and won, you will have it. A Lannister always pays his debts.''

She leaned even more toward him, and looked him in the eye, while articulating well to make sure he understood.

''But not before.''

Euron got up, his arm still dripping with scarlet blood, and left the queen's apartments without asking for the rest, escorted by his vulture.

As soon as he was gone, Cersei fell to her knees where she was, right against her dæmon, and began to cry, pushing her hands into his soft fur, burying her face in his mane, as she would have done in Jaime's neck if he had been there.

If she thought she had no more tears to shed, she was mistaken.

* * *

The atmosphere in Winterfell became more and more tense as the hours went by.

The dead could be at the gates of the castle at any time now and everyone had to be ready to face them when the time came.

The atmosphere was heavy, ponderous, everyone knowing who they were going to fight against, knowing that they were going to fight death, and what would happen if they lost, the endless night that would come upon them, and never withdraw again.

The fact that the armies had almost doubled in strength with the arrival of the Lannister soldiers had been a brief relief, before falling back into the ghastly expectation of the White Walkers.

Daenerys was in the apartments assigned to her, the fire burning in the fireplace insufficient to warm the room.

She thought back to the conversation she had had with Tyrion a few days earlier.

There were far too many people aware of Jon's identity.

It was no longer a secret, and soon the entire Seven Kingdoms would know who their rightful ruler was.

And, if the news hadn't already made its way around the continent, everyone would soon know.

Cersei would make sure, Daenerys would know.

She would do anything to preserve her family, had already done everything and anything to protect her family, so it wouldn't be the idea of divulging confidential information that would stop her.

And if all the lords of Westeros became aware of who the true male heir of the Targaryen lineage was, there was no doubt that they would choose him over Daenerys.

She sighed, her eyes lost in contemplation of the flames, the flames that had once made the power of her house, and that had made hers.

Fire and blood.

She had no choice.

As she had told Sansa, all her life she had aspired to only one thing : the Iron Throne.

She was unable to list all that she had had to endure, all that she had had to endure, in order to reach this point.

And now, an obstacle, a final obstacle stood in her way.

She loved Jon. She had told Sansa that too.

She loved Jon. But she would not give up the Iron Throne for him.

Not when she had already lost so much to access it.

* * *

Sansa was in the Great Hall with Seldan, in the midst of all the women and children in a panic, giving her instructions to her servants, when she saw Daenerys enter the room, visibly looking for someone.

She turned around so as not to face her, hoping that perhaps, if she didn't look her in the eyes, the Mother of Dragons wouldn't see her, that she would leave thinking that she wasn't here, perhaps somewhere else.

It was a lost cause.

She saw from the corner of Daenerys' eye moving towards her, everyone moving away from her path, and coming closer and closer.

Sansa felt her heart pounding in her chest.

If Daenerys insisted on talking to her, it was not a good sign.

''Lady Sansa, may I speak to you?''

Sansa looked around her with a worried look, before nodding, and allowing herself to be carried away by Daenerys into a small adjacent room in the dark.

Once she was sure that they were alone and away from prying eyes and ears, Daenerys declared, without bothering to hide the true purpose of the conversation:

''We absolutely must talk about what will happen when the war against the White Walkers is over.''

Sansa looked at her without batting an eyelid, her voice cold:

''It seems to me that you already know what will happen. You are going to besiege King's Landing with what is left of your armies and ours. This is what Jon promised you in exchange for your help.''

Daenerys watched her at length, seeming to think about whether Sansa thought she was an idiot.

''Yes, he does. But what if Jon doesn't survive the battle ?''

Sansa frowned.

She had been thinking, of course, about the possibility of Jon's death, but until now she had been reassured that he was a true war hero, that he had already fought the White Walkers and their army of the dead, and had triumphed, once, twice, at Hardhome, capturing the dead and bringing it back to Cersei.

But this time, something disturbed Sansa, the fact that the dead were close to her, or the look in Daenerys' eyes, perhaps.

She glanced at Seldan, opened her mouth, but no sound, no words came out.

Daenerys took her silence as an answer, and, his amethyst eyes hard as stone, said:

''I warn you. When the Long Night is over, I myself will go to King's Landing to crush Cersei, and I will take back what is rightfully mine: the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. If Jon dies, you will become Governor of the North. But I have no pity for my enemies and my opponents.''

Lowering her voice, as if she was afraid that someone would hear her, despite all the precautions they had taken to keep their conversation between them, she continued:

''I know that somehow you've got something going on with Cersei. I don't have proof yet, but if I ever find anything, the slightest little thing...''.

She plunged her eyes into hers:

"You will suffer the fate of all traitors...''

And, turning her heels, without looking behind her, she left the room.

* * *

The weather was still gloomy in King's Landing, but at least it had stopped snowing.

The cold, on the other hand, was always present.

Qyburn didn't know what made Cersei change her mind and stop letting herself go, but she had sent him a message saying she wanted to speak with him.

She was sitting behind her desk, reading papers, and she didn't look up when he knocked and she invited him in.

However, she stopped reading to realize who her visitor was, and seemed relieved when she saw that it was Qyburn.

His monkey dæmon jumped from his shoulder, where she was perched, as usual, while Aramis was pacing, a perfect representation of the spirit of his human.

He sat down on one of the chairs in front of her and, looking her in the eyes, asked her gently:

"Are you fine?''

She sighed:

'' ''Fine'' is a big word. But I'm getting better.''

He nodded. He was not entirely satisfied with this answer, because he could see that she was still visibly extremely tired, but he did not insist any further. She certainly didn't need him to rub it in.

There followed a long silence, during which they just looked at each other, but which Qyburn broke after a while:

"You wanted to talk to me?''

Cersei blinked, as if she was in a trance:

''Yes, yes... The people of King's Landing are urging me to find out how I will protect them when the Targaryen girl arrives to try to take the city down.'' She pointed with a wave of her hand to the papers that piled up in the four corners of the desk. ''I wanted to get your opinion on the matter, before answering them.''

Qyburn nodded. He had already thought about this, knowing that it could quickly become a problem, and that she probably wouldn't have the head for that kind of thing.

''What plans did you have for them?''

''Daenerys Targaryen claims to be a liberator. She claims to want to come and save the people of Westeros.''

She sighed again.

''I had thought I could count on her not to attack the people she's coming to save. So I wanted to get the people into the Red Keep, to make sure that she wouldn't storm it with her dragon.''

He invited her to continue with a nod.

''But that is also my biggest problem. I'm not sure of anything about this girl. She is not the Mad King's daughter for nothing. So I am not sure that she will not choose to set everything on fire. And, if she does, the people will hold me responsible. And the Red Keep is not big enough to accommodate everyone.''

''I may have a solution, if you're interested.''

She looked at him with curiosity:

''I'm listening. Anyway, at this point...''

''Sunspear and Highgarden are still empty, aren't they?''

She frowned:

''The families who lived there are dead. I did not appoint a Lord of the Reach after the death of Randyll Tarly, although I promised this title to Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, in exchange for Jaime's protection, and I did not even consider the question of Dorne. I suppose the Dornishmen will choose for themselves who they consider to be the legitimate heir to the principality. So yes, as far as I know, they are still empty, although I cannot guarantee that there are no peasants who have settled there for the winter. But why?''

''According to my informants, the White Walkers are almost at Winterfell, but the Long Night has not yet passed. So we still have some time before the arrival of the Targaryen armies.''

She still didn't see where he was going.

''Indeed...''

He continued :

''Send part of the population from King's Landing to Highgarden, and part to Sunspear. If we lose, they will have time to learn of our defeat. And if Daenerys decides to burn the city, they will support you, because they will remember that it is thanks to you that they were not killed, because you will have sent them elsewhere. The rest of the population will be able to go into the Red Keep in plenty of time''.

Cersei studied the proposal. The idea was clever, and not unworkable. Nevertheless, there was a problem.

''And how do we get them to Sunspear and Highgarden? All the Lannister armies have gone with Jaime, I have no personal fleet, and I cannot sacrifice members of the Golden Company".

''Send the lesser elements of the Iron Fleet. You can amply afford to get rid of a few boats, the smaller ones, for the people of King's Landing.''

A new silence settled in between them. Cersei squinted her eyes, continuing to think.

Qyburn stood up:

"Will that be all, Your Grace?''

She nodded, silent, lost in thought.

''Feel free to send for me, if you need anything.''

He turned his heels, his dæmon jumping on his shoulder again.

But the moment he reached the door, Cersei called him back.

''Qyburn?''

He turned to look at her.

"Yes?''

''Thank you.''

He smiled at her, nodded respectfully, and walked out.

* * *

Jaime couldn't stand the waiting that preceded the Long Night any longer.

He was sitting with Tyrion in front of the fireplace in his apartments, where they both drank beer after beer, hoping to drown the anguish that was growing in them.

Neither of them expected the door of the room to open with a bang, unless it was to tell them that this was it, they were there, the dead were there, at the gates of Winterfell, and their death too, perhaps.

But what a surprise it was for them to recognize Bronn's silhouette in the door frame before he walked towards them.

Neither Tyrion nor Jaime spoke when the mercenary explained that Cersei had sent him to prevent his twin brother from dying during the Great Battle of Winterfell in exchange for Highgarden and all the titles attached to it, and Jaime stopped listening when his sister was no longer mentioned, preferring to drift in his thoughts about her rather than continue listening to his brother and Bronn.

The last thing he grasped from their conversation was a short sentence from Tyrion:

''We may all be dead before the dawn...''


	12. Chapter 11 : Goodbye Brother

The ashes were always flying in the air, falling gently, mixing with the snowflakes that also came to rest gently and littered the ground.

The air was loaded, and smelled horribly, a mixture of burnt, charred human flesh, smoke, the scent of death.

The footsteps of Sansa and Seldan were almost silent, barely squeaking in the white snow covered with black ash.

She was looking for Jon.

She hadn't seen him since the members of the Army of the Dead had collapsed to the ground, lifeless, as it should have been all along, and the White Walkers had evaporated into the air, pure and simple, as if they had never existed.

They were forced to step over corpses, unrecognizable, of which it could not be said for sure whether they had belonged to the army of the dead or to the army of the living, it didn't matter now.

When suddenly she stopped, obsessed by the scene a few meters away from her, while not wanting to believe it, it was not possible, it was only a nightmare, nothing but a nightmare, nothing but a horrible nightmare.

But Daenerys' scream proved her wrong.

There she was, kneeling in the middle of snow and ashes, in the middle of fire and blood, cradling a body.

A body.

Sansa's eyes blurred with tears as she recognized the identity of the dead man, even though deep down she had known it all along, since she had seen that he hadn't returned.

Jon had a dagger deeply embedded in his entrails, a blade of ice, the weapon of the White Walkers, from which only the handle came out.

His blood stained the white fur coat of Daenerys, whose tears streamed down her face before falling on Jon's cold cheeks.

Sansa looked for Ghost of the eyes, thinking that when she saw the white wolf, it would be over, she would be sure that Jon was still alive, that the dæmon had not evaporated into a cloud of golden dust.

But no matter how hard she looked for him, she saw him nowhere.

It was over.

Jon Snow was dead.

Sansa closed her eyes, refusing to see another minute of this, an image that would already remain indefinitely etched in her memory, and tears as warm as the breath of life flowed down her cheeks, too.

* * *

The White Walkers may have been defeated, but that did not stop the snow from continuing to fall, covering the ground with a thick, immaculate mantle, covering the blood and ashes, covering the traces of the Great War.

The smoke from the flames of the funeral pyres would die in the gray winter sky, as if souls were escaping from their fleshly prisons, ascending into the air, before fainting, dead is dead, life is over, but so are the dead.

The last survivors, too few in number, unfortunately, looked weary, tired, the adrenaline of victory had not yet had time to rise in their spirits, not when there were so many people to bury, not when so many of their brothers, their fathers, their sons had fallen.

Sansa looked at Daenerys out of the corner of her eye as she stood in front of the pyre where Jon's body had been placed.

She had claimed the privilege of cremating him, she was the queen, as she had not failed to remind him, and then, Fire and Blood was her motto, after all, their motto, and Sansa did not have the strength to fight anymore, she was fed up with fire and blood, like all Northerners, like everybody else.

So she had accepted.

But she had the deep feeling that she shouldn't have. The male heir of the Targaryen dynasty had just died. So Daenerys was the last of the dragons still in the race for the throne.

She looked away from the Mother of Dragons to look at Jaime Lannister.

He was alive and whole, and she had been thanking the gods for it ever since she had seen him return alive and on his feet from the Long Night.

She hadn't dared to imagine the magnitude of Cersei's fury if her twin brother had perished or been wounded during the Great Battle of Winterfell, when she had at first not wanted him to come and fight there, and she thought it was best not to think about it, that it was over, now that there was no need to worry.

She was wrong, of course.

* * *

The feast was in full swing within the walls of the Great Hall of Winterfell.

The defeat of death was celebrated there. It was a celebration of life.

Everyone seemed happy, except Daenerys, but Sansa didn't hold it against her for once.

She had lost Jorah Mormont. She had lost Jon.

It was normal that she wasn't in the mood to feast like everyone else.

Tormund had made a toast to Jon, a king, he said, because who else was riding a dragon, if not a madman?

Daenerys had raised her glass too, but Sansa had seen that there was something else wrong, after all, Jon wasn't the only one riding a dragon, Jon wasn't the only one who deserved the title of king, but Jon was dead now, so it didn't matter, none of it mattered.

Sansa was so focused on Daenerys that she didn't see Arya approaching her until she cleared her throat to signal her sister.

Sansa blinked, pulled abruptly from her thoughts, and looked at Arya:

''Sorry, I didn't see you there.''

''I noticed.''

They both had a small, joyless laugh.

An awkward silence settled between them, until Sansa broke it:

''So, how does it feel to be the heroine of a war?''

It was Arya who had put an end to all this, Arya who had stuck her Dragonglass blade into the ice entrails of the Night King, Arya who had saved them all, all of them, from certain death.

She sighed, probably with sadness:

"We're talking about Jon mostly, you know.''

Sansa tried to comfort her awkwardly:

''They talk more and more about the ones who died.''

Arya nodded her head, and started talking again, but Sansa didn't really listen. She watched Jaime Lannister leave the room, accompanied only by his dæmon, without paying attention to what her sister was telling her, thinking instead about what the knight might be doing outside, followed shortly afterwards by Brienne and her dog dæmon.

Arya had to pull her by the sleeve when she called him, so that she would pay attention to what she was saying:

"Are you listening to me?''

Sansa answered distractedly:

"Yes, yes, of course.''

But Arya didn't seem convinced, and repeated what she had just said:

''Now that the war with the dead is over and Winterfell has a new Lady, I'm going to explore the west of Westeros.''

Sansa smiled at her:

''That's good, that's what you've always wanted to do: to go on adventures, to discover the world and what no one before you had ever discovered.''

Arya nodded, and Sansa thought about what her sister had just told her.

Winterfell has a new Lady.

It was to her that her sister was referring.

She was the new Lady of Winterfell.

She now had power in the North.

She looked at Daenerys and remembered what Tyrion had told her not long before.

_I would be more confident in the future if I left after the Long Night convinced that you and Daenerys are allies._

But another bit of their conversation came to Sansa's mind.

You are guilty of treason. If Daenerys finds out, she will want you executed. Jon may be able to stop her at first, but if she ends up on the Iron Throne, she will have every right to order your execution.

Who was going to stop Daenerys from killing her now that Jon was gone?

* * *

Jaime smiled when he felt the fresh air on his face as he went outside with Sercilia.

The war against the dead was over. He was going to be able to return to King's Landing.

He was going to be able to return to Cersei.

He smiled even more broadly at this thought.

If luck was on his side, perhaps he would arrive in time for the birth of their son or daughter.

For nothing in the world would he have wanted Cersei to give birth alone, without him, whereas if he left the North quickly enough, he could be at her side.

There was not much left of the Lannister armies, they had been decimated, like all the others, but that was not important.

They would have the Golden Company at King's Landing. They would defeat Daenerys, no matter what. They had no choice.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear someone else's footsteps crunching in the snow behind him, and didn't realize someone else was there until he heard a voice behind his back:

"Ser Jaime?''

He did not need to turn around to recognize the owner of that voice.

Brienne moved a little closer to him, and came up to him, with her dog approaching Jaime's lioness.

''Yes ?''

He observed her. She was dying to tell him something, it was obvious, but she didn't really feel comfortable talking about it.

After long minutes of mutual silence, she finally made up her mind.

A question had been running through her head since the White Walkers had collapsed next to Jaime, and although deep down she already knew the answer, she still preferred to hear it from her mouth, and to be sure of it.

''Now that the war against the dead is over, will you go back to King's Landing''?

Jaime frowned. He wasn't really expecting that question, but there was no hesitation in his voice when he answered:

''Of course. Daenerys and Cersei have called a truce until the White Walkers are defeated, but it is done. Hostilities will resume, and I must return to my sister to help her plan the defense of the city.''

Brienne didn't really recognize her voice when she answered emphatically:

''They're going to destroy the whole city! You know they will.''

She should not have told him. It was confidential, it was not her place to divulge Daenerys' plans, especially not to the enemy camp.

But she loved Jaime.

She loved him, and she couldn't let him die without trying to stop him, no matter how futile her attempts.

And Jaime understood that, obviously, when he sighed.

''I'm not a man for you, Brienne.''

She looked him in the eye, not wanting to listen to him, not wanting to believe him.

Of course he was, he could be a man for her.

He was a man of honor. He had come to fight in the North, just as he had promised.

''You are a man of honor. You have kept your word.''

Jaime shook his head.

''Cersei kept her word. It was she who promised she would send our armies to fight by your side, it was she who spoke the words, and it was she who honored them. I did not.''

''You still led your armies to the front, risking your own lives, to ensure the victory of life.''

Jaime sighed more beautifully:

"I did it for Cersei. Not for me, not for the people. Not for everyone's life. For Cersei.''

Brienne shook her head in turn, feeling the tears coming to her eyes, but not wanting to let them flow.

Why did she always have to fall in love with men who didn't love her back?

''You're not like your sister.''

''I'm not the man you think I am, Brienne.''

Tears began to fall from the corners of her eyes.

He took a deep breath:

''I pushed a boy off a tower window, crippled him for life. For Cersei. I strangled my cousin with my own hands, just to get back to Cersei. I would have murdered every man, every woman, and every child in Riverrun, for Cersei.''

Brienne's tears now flowed freely on her cheeks.

''She did horrible things. She is hateful. And so am I.''

He gently put his golden hand on her shoulder, a golden, icy remnant of the limb he had lost to defend her virtue against Roose Bolton's men, and she looked at him again.

''I'm sure one day you'll find someone good. Someone who deserves you.''

Brienne's sobs stopped, and he continued quietly:

''But that man can't be me.''

She lowered her head, and he left her there, alone, with her dæmon, while Sercilia followed him inside.

* * *

Sansa saw Jaime returning to the Great Hall, but alone, as he had left.

She was about to retire for the night, when suddenly she felt like going to the godswoods, to the huge barral her father worshipped, to the place where Arya had killed the King of the Night and where the battle had ended, and to the place where Bran was supposed to be at that very moment.

She felt Daenerys' eyes on her as she went out, but she did not pay attention and walked to the door.

Bran was indeed in front of the barral when she arrived in the sacred woods in darkness, and neither he nor his crow turned his head when she appeared beside him, followed by Seldan.

They did not speak, none of them, they were just sitting there, in front of the tree with red foliage, enjoying the restful silence, after the chaos of the battle and the agitation that reigned in the centerpiece of the castle, the euphoria of victory now very present among the survivors, who had said to death "Not today".

But suddenly Bran felt a vision coming to him.

* * *

_The night was inky black, and only the intense light from the flames that seemed to rise to the sky contrasted with the darkness._

_The battle was still raging, the corpses piled up everywhere, unrecognizable, covered with ashes and blood._

_Jon was there, out of breath, turning his back on Daenerys, who approached him._

_He had obviously just destroyed one of the White Walkers, whose Ice Blade had been thrown several feet from him, and of which nothing remained._

_Moving a little closer to her lover, and arriving just in front of the blade, Daenerys leaned over._

_Fire and Blood._

_She had no choice._

_She was the only Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the only heiress to the Iron Throne and the Targaryen Dynasty, and it had to stay that way._

_Picking up the dagger, she twisted it in her fingers, feeling the coldness of the ice against the warmth of her skin._

_Fire and ice are not meant to be together._

_She hid the dagger in the white fur of her coat, and got even closer to Jon._

_Jon turned around and saw her._

_He went forward, hurried, came to her, he was happy to see her, she wasn't supposed to be in the middle of the battlefield, she wasn't supposed to be far from her dragon, but at least she was alive, and, as far as he could tell, safe and sound._

_They weren't really alone, but the men around them weren't paying any attention to them, focused on the fighting they were doing, so it was just like that._

_When they joined together, Jon leaned over to kiss Daenerys._

_Tears streamed from her eyes, and her lips tasted salty when they came in contact with his._

_He thought they were tears of relief, but he was wrong._

_He didn't know._

_She had no choice, she had no choice, she had no choice._

_The Iron Throne was the goal she had pursued all her life, her one and only desire, which was rightfully hers._

_No one could take it from her, steal it from her again, and that was the way it was._

_Jon's eyes widened as the blade went into his entrails, his blood gushing out of the gaping wound staining the white fur of Daenerys' coat, and he collapsed on her without making a sound._

_She caught him and held him as best she could, while she knelt down and laid him down on the ground, rocking him in her arms as she sobbed, now weeping tears at the loss of her lover who had almost been her usurper._

* * *

''So, did you see anything interesting?''

Bran didn't answer right away, not wanting to believe what he had just seen, even though he knew it was only the truth, nothing but the truth.

It wasn't by fighting one of the White Walkers that Jon had died.

It was Daenerys who had killed him, eliminating one of her most serious contenders for the throne.

He looked at Sansa.

He didn't know what she could do if she knew. She had never liked Daenerys, but the fact that she was Jon's murderer would make her abhor her.

But Jon was her brother. Their brother.

Sansa had a right to know, just as much as he did.

He still didn't turn his head, refusing to cross her sapphire eyes, which would soon be even more tarnished by sadness than they already were.

''You must know something... about Jon's death...''


	13. Chapitre 12 : The Soulbreaker

When Sansa entered the Great Hall of the castle again, followed by her daemon, she could not bring herself to glance at Daenerys.

She couldn't stop thinking about Bran's words, four little words that kept tormenting her.

_Daenerys had killed Jon. Daenerys had killed Jon. Daenerys had killed Jon._

But she loved him. She told her herself that.

She loved him, and yet that didn't deter her from eliminating him the moment he became too dangerous, the moment he became an obstacle, a _threat_ to her claim to the throne.

Sansa remembered what Tyrion had told her before the Long Night.

_I would feel more confident about the future if I left after the Long Night convinced that you and Daenerys are allies._

Allies...

How could they be allies after what she had done in choosing the lions over the dragons, and after Daenerys had decided to end the life of one of the last wolves?

* * *

It was just beginning to get light when Jaime slipped into the Winterfell courtyard, which was completely inanimate and deserted, following the drunkenness that the victory against the dead had brought.

Unlike most of his surviving soldiers, who had drunk their fill the night before and were still sleeping heavily, Jaime was perfectly sober.

He couldn't afford to drink. He knew that.

He had promised Cersei that he would set out for King's Landing as soon as the White Walkers had been defeated and destroyed, and that was what he intended to do.

He was heading south now, alone, with Sercilia, and what little was left of the Lannister armies would set out shortly after him. He would go much faster alone than with several hundred men to lead.

Busy getting his horse ready, he didn't hear the footsteps just behind him, and was startled when a female voice rose in the morning silence:

''Leaving us already, Ser Jaime?''

His heart was pounding, and he wasn't really sure he really wanted to know the identity of the owner of that voice, but he turned around anyway.

The drumming in his chest subsided when he realized that it was only the new Lady of Winterfell accompanied by her own lion dæmon, and not Daenerys Targaryen, as he had feared for a moment.

''Indeed. Cersei promised her help in ending the threat of the White Walkers, and now she has. I must now return to King's Landing, before Daenerys decides to begin her journey to the capital.''

Sansa nodded, saying nothing for a moment, before deciding to speak again:

''Thank Cersei for her help from me. And...''

She glanced around furtively, to make sure no one unwanted could hear them, before slipping to the knight, her voice low:

''Let her know that our agreement still stands.''

(But perhaps Sansa should have been more careful. If she had been, she might have spotted the little bird that took flight as soon as the confidence had passed her lips).

* * *

The little boy's running footsteps echoed through the corridors of Winterfell in the early morning silence.

He knew exactly where he was going.

He had been made to promise that if he heard anything suspicious or disturbing, especially if it concerned Lady Sansa, he would come immediately to report it.

And the exchange he had overheard seemed to fit that criteria.

The door opened quickly once he knocked, and, a little intimidated, he entered the room and bowed to one of the people present:

''Your Grace...''

* * *

''Your Grace ?''

Cersei looked up from the papers spread out before her, which she tried to decipher with little success.

The last few weeks weighed on her far more than the last twenty-five years, and she felt as if she had been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders since Jaime had left.

She watched as Qyburn entered the room, his monkey perched on his shoulder as usual, a slight smile on his lips.

She frowned. If he was smiling, he must be the bearer of good news for them.

''Forgive me for disturbing you, but I have something to show you, and I figured the sooner you knew about it, the better.''

Cersei nodded silently, pulled back her chair, and stood up, putting her gowns back in order, before following her Hand with Aramis through the maze of corridors of the Red Keep, to his laboratory, close to the basements and plunged into darkness.

She heard moans and groans, and squinted her eyes, trying to guess where they were coming from.

Once she got used to the darkness in the room, she could make out a body tied to one of the tables.

She moved a little closer to the man, but it didn't take her long to recognize him.

_Whore!_

_Bitch!_

_Slut!_

_Shame!_

_Bitch!_

_Whore!_

It was one of the many men who had been in the front row for her Walk of Shame, who had taken great pleasure in spitting on her, in taunting her, as had so many others around her at that time.

The man, who was gagged, immediately stopped moaning as soon as he saw her, slightly bent over him, and recognized her, with her short locks of hammered gold and her emerald green eyes.

Qyburn, who had gone to get something from one of the workbenches, came back to stand next to her.

Cersei could see that he was holding, in his right hand, now covered by a thick leather glove, a small vial filled with a thick, almost silver, almost translucent liquid.

But when she reached out to take the vial and observe its contents in the dim light from the grimy window above, Qyburn smirked:

''I wouldn't touch it, if I were you. Not like that, at least.''

Her incomprehension must have been visible on her face, for he continued:

''I'll show you why.''

Without further explanation of what he was going to do, he grabbed the man's dæmon, a rat that had taken refuge in his human's neck by its tail, and with a simple movement of his thumb, uncorked the bottle he was still holding, and poured the strange liquid over the rat, taking great care not to get any on the hand that held the animal, causing the still bound and gagged man in front of them to writhe in pain.

A few seconds passed, before the rat, which was struggling in the hand of the old man, disappeared in a cloud of golden dust.

The man screamed, but the life did not escape from his body, as Cersei had expected.

How could this be?

A human could not live without his daemon.

Hundreds of men had tried it, maesters, archmaesters and other scholars, even men who simply had a daemon that was too annoying, too cumbersome, and yet all had failed.

When she looked at Qyburn again, she found him smiling, and, allowing herself to do so for the first time in many weeks, smiled back.

If this poison could separate a human from his daemon, it would be an invaluable asset to their side in the war against Daenerys, which was drawing ever closer, inexorable, inevitable.

And if they could determine which of the three dragons was Daenerys' daemon, they could use it against her, and thus deprive her of her most valuable weapon.

''Is my latest invention to your satisfaction, Your Grace?''

She did not need to answer for him to know.

As she walked up the stairs that led to the rest of the castle, faithfully followed by Aramis, Cersei put a hand on her belly, still slightly swollen.

She still had something to fight for, to fight for her throne, for her kingdom, for her thousand-year-old dynasty.

She still had one little lion cub that death had not yet stolen from her, snatched away.

Only one little cub, who would see the golden light of the sun, who would see the loving emerald eyes of his father and mother.

Only one little cub. The heir to the Iron Throne.

* * *

The court at Winterfell was filled with men in scarlet cloaks.

Sansa watched them all out of the corner of her eye as they prepared to leave the North for the capital and return to serve the house to which they had sworn loyalty and fealty.

Jaime had left Winterfell a few days before, and as far as Sansa knew, their conversation on the morning of his departure had been kept perfectly confidential, as had the subject of that conversation.

She hadn't seen Daenerys since the feast after the Long Night, just after she learned that Jon had died by her hand, but she didn't miss it.

If she had not yet come to speak to her alone, it was because she did not know about her alliance with Cersei, even though she must have suspected something, nor did she know about Jon's death, which could have seemed quite insignificant in its context.

The Mother of Dragons now spent most of her time locked in the map room of Westeros, planning for hours on end her attack on King's Landing, how she would take back what was rightfully hers from the usurper, the Iron Throne and the Kingdom of the Seven Kingdoms, which would be restored to its former glory under the Targaryen dynasty, under the rule of dragons, and lions that would never roar again.

She had also had little opportunity to keep much with Tyrion since the end of the Long Night, but every time they had had a brief moment to talk, he had seemed worried.

Very worried.

It was obvious that he and Varys had lost any kind of control they had over Daenerys, if a eunuch and a deformed lion had any power over the dragon for even a day, an hour, a minute.

The dragon was in over its head, and anyone who stood in its way would find themselves paying a heavy price, watching the fire spread and the blood flow.

Sansa didn't even dare to imagine what would happen to her if Daenerys discovered anything, and she knew now that she would have to leave Winterfell, and go to the capital, too, hoping that Cersei would agree to let her enter King's Landing, and provide her with protection, to prevent Daenerys from reaching her.

She had no choice but to leave, and the sooner the better.

And, from what Varys was saying, it wasn't impossible that Cersei would win the war, after all.

Daenerys' armies had been decimated by the Long Night, and even if the same had happened to the Lannister forces, Cersei had the Golden Company, mercenaries with a reputation for excellence throughout the Seven Kingdoms and beyond, and Euron Greyjoy's proven Iron Fleet at her service.

Sansa sighed as she looked at the soldiers in their red cloaks and golden armies dented, battered, burned from the last battle, then turned her eyes to Seldan, sitting next to her.

His daemon looked back at her.

He, too, knew that they had no choice, that they would have to leave the North for the South again when it hadn't really worked out for them the last time it happened.

But Daenerys would certainly end up killing them, if they didn't leave, if they stayed within her reach too long, and she would then have them and the last of the Starks, as she had killed Jon.

If Sansa let that happen, Daenerys would have the North, but also the Vale and the Riverlands on her side, and nothing could stop her in her bloody and murderous conquest of the Iron Throne, even though she wanted to be the liberator of all of them, the _Breaker of Chains_ , as they all liked to call her, as if she would single-handedly abolish all the tyranny and all the injustices of this world.

* * *

It was almost sunny when the Lannister soldiers left Winterfell.

A bright sun was shyly showing its rays, and gently illuminating the cold gray lands of the North, still covered by a thick blanket of compact white snow.

Winter was over, that was obvious, and, even if it would take some time, spring would eventually arrive.

The few remaining soldiers were happy to finally return to the capital.

They would be able to see their families and friends again, even if the peace would be very short-lived.

They all knew it was only a matter of time before the young Targaryen and her monsters came to bring fire and blood to the city.

No one doubted it.

Most of them had witnessed her father's reign of terror.

How would his daughter be any different?

(What they didn't know was how true this was, and they never would have guessed it would happen so soon.)

* * *

They had already been on the Kingsroad for several days.

The sun had not disappeared, shining a little brighter each day, as if nature itself wanted to prove that the night was over, finished, that it would never come back.

But it was no longer the night to be wary of.

It was the shadow.

The night is dark and full of terrors.

But so was the day, and the Lannister soldiers learned this the hard way.

The sun was high in the sky, as it usually is now, but it was covered by a huge shadow hovering over the few hundred remaining soldiers.

Those who had been present at the destruction of the spoils of war after the sack of Highgarden swallowed, a painful and bitter sense of deja vu coming back to them.

They didn't have to wait until they reached King's Landing for the fire and blood to descend upon them.

The huge black dragon turned in the sky, swooped down and landed in front of the men, causing the horses to rear and neigh and the humans to scream.

They had just enough time to see strands of white-blond hair, and to hear a word shouted in a foreign language before the fiery orange of the flames and the scarlet of the blood, the same color as the banners they had proudly displayed.

Fire and blood.

It was over.


	14. Chapter 13 : Not Today

The moment Daenerys walked through the doors of the room where the map of Westeros was located, Tyrion knew something had happened.

Her long, almost white hair was covered in ash, and stuck to her forehead from sweat.

Before, Tyrion would have thought she looked radiant, that she was perfectly in her element, a warrior, a conqueror, like Aegon who had conquered the Seven Kingdoms with his three dragons born of flame.

But now he didn't know what to think.

Had his many discussions with Varys and Sansa finally opened his eyes to Daenerys' true nature?

Could he have been foolish enough, blinded by the promises of chains and broken wheels and liberated peoples, the promises of a better world, not to see that deep down Daenerys was a tyrant like any other, who wanted the world at her feet?

He didn't have time to find the answer to his questions deep inside him when Daenerys came to stand at the head of the table, fulminating.

And he knew that her fury was directed at him when two flaming amethysts landed on him, while he had not yet opened his mouth.

Four little words, as sharp as a blade, as burning as dragon fire in Tyrion's eyes:

''You failed. Again.''

He tried to defend himself:

''Your Grace, I don't know what you want...''

He couldn't finish his sentence before Daenerys cut him off, in an angry white voice:

''You've been taken advantage of.''

Before he could add anything, ask for clarifications, although deep down, deep down, he knew perfectly well what she was talking about, it was obvious, she was bound to discover it at some point, she took the floor again.

''You let yourself be abused by everyone. By your sister, by your brother, by Sansa...''

She paused for a split second, just long enough to glare at him again.

''One of my spies overheard an interesting conversation between Sansa and your brother just before he left Winterfell.''

She moved dangerously close to him, as if she were the predator, and he the prey.

(It was true, deep down. The lion was only the dragon's prey. If Daenerys felt like killing him on the spot, there would be no one to stop her.)

''Sansa told your brother to deliver a message to Cersei. A message that said the alliance still stood.''

Amethysts dipped into the emeralds.

''I wonder what alliance they were talking about...''

Tyrion felt his blood run cold. It had been a long time since he had seen Sansa, and the thought that Daenerys might have hurt her was enough to make him sick.

He looked at her, stared at the ashes in her hair, and at the blood on his hands, which had been soiling his hands for years, and yet he had always refused to see it.

Sansa, Cersei, Jaime, Varys...

They were all right.

All of them.

Daenerys was a monster.

Daenerys was a monster, and he was apparently the only one who refused to see it, the only one who was blind enough to deny the truth, when it was horribly obvious, when everyone had warned him about it.

Was this what Jaime felt?

Was he, too, refusing to see all the atrocities that Cersei had committed?

No.

Jaime knew Cersei.

He had known her since they were born.

He knew her, and yet he chose to love her.

He had chosen to love her in spite of it all, he had chosen to love her with it all.

Tyrion once again wished he had the same courage as his older brother.

He and Jaime had both chosen to love women who had done horrible things, women who were hateful, women who most people would say were hateful.

But Jaime had the courage (or was it madness?) to see Cersei's true nature in the face, and to accept it, to embrace it, and to continue to love her.

Tyrion, on the other hand, did not know what to think. His eyes were now wide open to what Daenerys was, that was undeniable, and yet he could not accept it.

Not when he had a glimpse of the price that would have to be paid.

Daenerys' voice pulled him out of his thoughts, but he focused on her face, a face he had loved so much, cherished so much, a face that lit up when freedom was mentioned.

Then the face became anamorphic.

Eyes of icy sapphire replaced the burning amethysts, and the ash-covered hair took on the hue of strands as if on fire.

He thought of Sansa, of what would happen to her when Daenerys finally found her.

Daenerys noticed he wasn't listening to her, and moved even closer to him, at a distance that could easily have been outrageous if it wasn't his queen standing in front of him.

(But was she still his queen?)

''I now have proof that Sansa plotted against me with your sister, though she denied any form of involvement with Cersei.''

Tyrion said nothing, feeling that he would sink Sansa, Cersei, Jaime and himself if he said a single word.

Daenerys, now aware of his full attention, stepped back, and glared at him:

''As soon as I get my hands on Sansa, she will suffer the fate of all traitors.''

Without adding anything more, she turned on her heels and left the room.

Tyrion just stood there, speechless.

He had only one thing to do.

* * *

It had been dark for many hours when the knock came at Sansa's door.

She immediately turned to her daemon.

There were few people who would have dared to disturb her at such a late hour of the night, and if anyone did, it was certainly not a good sign.

Could it be that Daenerys had, after all this time spent looking for evidence of her alliance with Cersei, finally found some?

Could it be that half a dozen Unsullied were waiting for her on the other side of the door, to come and throw her in a tiny, dark cell, like her father's in King's Landing, to await execution?

Seldan stood in front of her, approaching the door, ready to pounce at any moment, and to pounce on unwelcome visitors if the need arose.

But the lion relaxed his aggressive posture as soon as a hurried whisper, in a voice Sansa knew well, was heard on the other side of the door:

''Sansa, open up, please...''

She frowned:

''Tyrion?''

''Yes, it's me. Hurry up, open up...''

She unlocked the door, and opened it, to reveal Tyrion, breathless and disheveled, followed by Stelsa, his vixen.

''Gods be praised, you're still up... You must hurry, you don't have much time, I'm afraid...''

She closed the door, and turned back to him, not sure she understood what he was trying to say.

''What do you mean, I don't have much time?''

Tyrion paused briefly, long enough to catch his breath properly, and explain to her in a more composed, less hasty voice.

''Daenerys... She knows...''

Sansa felt her heart pounding in her chest.

She didn't need any more clarification to know what Tyrion was trying to tell her.

Daenerys knew.

She was done for...

Still, Tyrion continued:

''Daenerys knows, about you and Cersei...''

''But how?''

''One of her spies overheard a conversation between you and Jaime, just before he left Winterfell.''

Sansa gasped slightly. She remembered perfectly that discussion, what she had said, word for word...

Thank Cersei for her help from me. And let her know that our agreement still stands...

She was again pulled out of her train of thought by Tyrion:

''You must leave. Now.''

She looked into his eyes, but no sound came from her slightly ajar mouth.

''Leave Winterfell at once. Make your way to White Harbor, a ship will be waiting for you there, and will take you directly to King's Landing. Once you're in the city, go directly to the Red Keep, and introduce yourself to Cersei...''

''What if she doesn't want to welcome me to the capital?''

Tyrion paused, then gave her a small, encouraging smile:

''You've managed to convince Cersei to help us in the war against the White Walkers, though the gods know how stubborn she can be if she wants to. You'll have no trouble convincing her to let you stay.''

After a few seconds of silence, he added:

''And she likes you too much, even if she doesn't necessarily show it, to throw you into the wolf's den... or rather the dragon's...''

''How can you be so sure?''

He moved closer to her, and took both her hands in his:

''Trust me. As much as I hate to admit it sometimes, Cersei is my sister. I like to think I know her a little better than most people.''

At her skeptical look, he repeated:

''Trust me...''

Sansa nodded her head.

* * *

Daenerys was absolutely furious when she entered the room where her Small Council was meeting.

She stood in front of all her councilors, flanked by Grey Worm and a few other Unsullied soldiers.

Her eyes immediately fell on Tyrion, but she addressed everyone in a clear voice:

''After the revelation of the betrayal of Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, I ordered my Unsullied to search the castle from top to bottom, in the hope of finding her, so that justice might be done...''

Her gaze was so insistent on Tyrion that she might as well have been addressing him alone.

He felt Stelsa, who was on his lap, cowering, under the threat of the dragon.

Under the threat of fire and blood.

''How surprised I was to find that she is nowhere to be found, despite extensive searches.''

Tyrion swallowed.

The last thing he needed was to fail.

Daenerys did not blink.

She suspected that Tyrion had something to do with the girl's mysterious disappearance.

She could feel it.

She had overheard the glances between them during meals, when they thought they were being discreet, when they thought no one was seeing them, no one was watching them.

She had to find and kill Sansa Stark, but she couldn't afford to kill Tyrion.

He was the one who knew King's Landing best.

Having defended the capital during her previous attack, he was her best chance to take the city, even if it all ended in bloodshed.

He would die after she took the throne.

Once she was in possession of the Iron Throne, she wouldn't need anyone to rule by her side.

She would make decisions on her own, she would not need advisors, no one.

She would be the only true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

After only a few seconds of silence, but which seemed endless, Tyrion spoke up:

''I have no idea where Sansa Stark might be. But in any case, she is alone, in the wilderness. She's no threat to us.''

Daenerys had an idea that would bring Sansa back to Winterfell.

She turned to the Unsullied and Greyhound:

''Find Arya and Brandon Stark, and bring them to me. I want them alive.''

Then she looked again at Tyrion, looking triumphant:

''If Sansa wants no harm to come to her brother and sister, she had better show up here at Winterfell as soon as possible. Otherwise, they will be the ones to suffer her punishment.''

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a little review, it's always a great pleasure ^^


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